


Hard Time

by CFVici



Category: seaQuest
Genre: E.L.F., Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lucas crunch, S-2 cast, Science Fiction, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 54
Words: 163,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CFVici/pseuds/CFVici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The seaQuest is forced through a Mobius Hole by a mad scientist with diabolical intent. Second season cast. *COMPLETE*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains acts of torture. If it were filmed, it would be rated R for violence and PG-13 for language. If you get squeamish, skip it. Click away right now. This is an attempt to woo Evil Lucas Fans (ELF) who love to see Lucas get crunched. He will get crunched. A lot. So will others. 
> 
> Since this story is a sequel, timeline-wise, to Redemption, certain conditions I set into motion will still be valid. I urge you to read Redemption first, but since its focus is quite different and mostly unrelated, some of you will skip it and for those I will give a short explanation. Please be aware that the following only applies to very minor plot points in this new story. It's mainly background.
> 
> When Tim was hit by the GELF Mariah's electrocution devices in the episode "Dagger Redux" their Genome Wave Energy altered his psi-factor and gave him a rare psychic power. Tim can project messages, but only to other telepaths. He must be in close proximity to the telepath, or the telepath must be a strong one (like Wendy), or he must be in an agitated emotional state like fear/panic. Concentrating also helps, but unless the other telepath has the same rare gift (which I call "Transmitting"), then he cannot hear the other telepath nor tell if he's been received.
> 
> Different rules apply to telepathic contact in the dream-state or telepathic contact accompanied by physical touching. For these special circumstances, I have tried to use canon examples (Wendy, Savannah Rossovich, Chatton residents, etc) to inform my conceptualization.
> 
> TIMELINE: Late second season, after Blindsided, but before Splashdown.

 

**_3 September 2022_ **

 

            Lucas Wolenczak bumped Miguel Ortiz on the elbow deliberately. Miguel was busy tracking four WSKRS, so he couldn’t really look away from his station. Lucas wouldn’t want him to. Not with Captain Bridger and Commander Ford both on the bridge. Lucas stared at a computer monitor so Miguel would under­stand he didn’t expect his attention. He whispered, “Same time tonight?”

            Anyone else would think they were planning a poker game and Lucas had gathered Miguel preferred his peers to assume that rather than realize the dashing young ladies’ man was spending so much of his spare time in “geeky” pursuit. He, Lucas, and a cetacean vocal specialist from the Kuril Trench Re­search Station were collaborating on a project to adapt and expand vocorder technology to whale songs.

            From his peripheral vision, Lucas saw Miguel’s hand raise to press his head­set against his ear. It was odd he didn’t even grunt the “Not now, Lucas” refrain the teen genius was so accustomed to hearing all the time, from just about everyone. Miguel wouldn’t ignore him without good cause. He turned and saw the sensor chief frowning, flipping switches with an almost frantic pace. “Captain,” he said loudly, causing Lucas to startle. “I just lost Loner.”

            “Lost, Mr. Ortiz?” If Lucas didn’t know any better, he would have thought the captain’s calm voice sounded amused.

            Lucas leaned toward Miguel’s station, trying to see if he could figure out what was going on and offer help. Miguel was still listening, flipping switches, and furrowing his brows in concentration. “My directional indicators just did that impossible thing they did right before—”

            “Reverse all engines now,” Captain Bridger called out. His voice was raised and urgent, but devoid of panic.

            The lights flickered. Lucas looked up to the main view screen. For a fraction of a second, he saw the strange whirlpool-patterned plane they’d all seen once before. But unlike the last time, when they’d crossed it voluntarily and at one-third speed, this time they were too close to avoid it. Lieutenant Brody re­peated the captain’s order to the engine room, but it was already too late.

            “Brace for impact!” the captain shouted. They hit the barrier at full speed and _seaQuest_ shook violently as she passed through a severe current disturbance. People were knocked off their feet and bounced around the bridge. Lucas was thrown into Miguel’s shoulder, but they both somehow managed to grab the console edge and keep their seats. The rumblings passed from bow to stern and then the lights returned to steady. The shaking stopped as quickly as it started.

            “Full stop,” the captain ordered.

            “Full stop, aye,” Commander Ford confirmed.

            _SeaQuest_ glided smoothly to a halt as Captain Bridger looked around the bridge. “Is everybody all right?”

            Everyone nodded as they caught their breaths, pulled themselves up off the floor, and turned attention back to their duty stations.

            Bridger shook his head. “Was that what I think it was?” he asked no one in particular.

            Miguel answered first. “I’ve got Loner back. All my readings indicate that the current disturbance was identical to the last time we crossed a Mobius Hole. We just hit it faster.”

            “And with no choice,” the captain muttered. “Is it behind us now?”

            Lucas cringed. The last time they’d passed through a Mobius Hole, all matter and energy behind it had vanished and he’d spent hours running calculations on the probability of nothing.

            Lonnie spoke as she clicked away on her controls. “Aft view, sir.”

            Lucas wasn’t the only one who breathed a sigh of relief when the screen revealed clear, open sea. Miguel checked all four WSKRS readouts before he reported in a relieved voice, “Sir, I don’t have any odd readings of _nothing_ on any of my instruments, nor is there any sign of the Mobius Hole. Everything looks normal.”

            “Henderson, how about our position? Are the locators functioning?”

            “They’re not acting like the last time, when they were all over the place, but they can’t connect with any of our navigational satellites or buoys. They’re acting dead.”

            “Sonar compass, Mr. O’Neill?”

            Tim clicked on his keyboard, stared at the display, swallowed hard, and shook his head. “Sir, you’re not going to believe this.”

            The captain emitted a sardonic chortle. “Try me.”

            “We’re in the Black Sea.”

            Captain Bridger sucked in his breath and shook his head slightly, but he didn’t argue with the report, impossible though it sounded. Five minutes ago, they’d been in the Pacific Ocean, near the Galapagos Islands. They normally couldn’t even approach the Black Sea because the Turkish Straits were too shal­low for a sub the size of _seaQuest_. It was one of the few bodies of water on Earth where she’d _never_ been.

            Commander Ford frowned. “That’s impossible.”

            Bridger raised his hand. “No more impossible than the existence of nothing or traveling to the future, and that’s what happened the last time we hit one of these. Mr. O’Neill, see if you can connect with the Naval Observatory clock and find out what year it is.”

            “Aye, sir.” Tim clicked away on his keyboard. Lucas would have bet Tim had already started the process before the captain asked.

            Bridger turned back to Ford, leaned in, and lowered his voice. “Did we sus­tain any damage?”

            Ford shook his head, but matched his low voice. “A few broken beakers in the science labs, but nothing serious.”

            “Weapons status?”

            “All systems normal.”

            “Thank you, Commander.”

            “Captain, I can’t get a fix on the clock,” Tim reported. “And either none of my equipment is working, or everyone on the planet just suddenly went radio-silent. All bands and all frequencies.”

            “Try emergency channels.”

            “Aye.” Tim flipped switches, typed, spoke a short hail, paused to listen, pushed buttons, and listened some more. “Emergency channels are all dead. No static or automated responses either. It’s like they aren’t there.”

            “Are you sure the communications buoy is up?”

            “I’ve run diagnostics twice, sir. It’s like all _our_ equipment is working, but no one else’s is.”

            “Did this happen the last time, when we were in 2245?”

            “No. Even when there were only two people alive on the planet, there were hundreds of radio stations playing automated music and ads that were decades old. Some of the emergency channels were down then, but I still got feedback that indicated most of the equipment was still running, just unmanned. And they had Internex communication for their games. But now there’s not a single radio, television, vid-link, or Internex channel transmitting at all.”

            “Electro Magnetic Pulse weapons?” Ford conjectured.

            “Quite possible,” the captain muttered. “Lucas, if the CentSys computer is back online, could you find it?”

            Lucas shook his head. “I pulled out its core rods, Captain. There’s no way it could come back online.”

            The unexpected voice of Dr. Smith sounded from the rear of the bridge, “They used to say that about cryogenically frozen people, too.”

            Lucas smirked at her. She had never appreciated the beauty of the CentSys computer, much less felt the pang of loss Lucas did when he had to permanently disable it. He turned back to look at the captain. “However, if we’re dealing with time travel, there’s no reason to assume CentSys didn’t do this sometime before 2245, when I pulled those rods. For that matter, Mobius Hole technology could have been developed _before_ CentSys. Just because CentSys opened our door the last time, doesn’t mean no one else could.”

            The captain nodded, but Lucas could tell he was losing patience with scientific theorizing. He threw his hands up. “But why us? There’s no distress call this time, no beacon to follow. What are we here for and how do we get back?” He noticed Dr. Smith walking slowly toward the forward view screen. “Doctor, do you have anything to report?”

            “There are definitely people out there. But I’m not picking up any kind of distress. I don’t think anyone knows we’re here.”

            A deep, scratchy voice with a slight French accent echoed over the shipwide speakers: “So sorry, Mademoiselle, but you are wrong.”

            Lucas felt his whole body slump just before his head hit the console. And then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

            _Hard bed_. Lucas felt consciousness returning slowly, but everything was wrong. His ankles and wrists were clamped down to what felt like a slab of solid rock. His mouth was covered with tape and he was blindfolded. He jerked against his bonds and attempted a muffled cry.

            “Ah, Monsieur Wolenczak…” It was the same scratchy voice he’d heard on the bridge just before he passed out, but it still sounded like it was being piped through speakers. “Go ahead and do your best to break free. I will not ’ave your full attention until you are satisfied you cannot escape.”

            Lucas gathered his strength and tried again. He couldn’t budge the restraints on his limbs even a little. After a few futile attempts, he decided instead to assess their design. He ceased jerking against them and tried to twist his arms and legs within the bonds. They didn’t rattle like they would if they were metal, and they conformed to the skin extremely closely. If he had to guess, he would say padded straps of a strong yet flexible material with adjustable buckles.

            Frustrated, he tried to scream, but the tape over his mouth muffled his cries to almost nothing. He could lift his head and neck a short distance off the rock slab, but it didn’t help. What little sound escaped was unintelligible. However, his failed efforts did yield him a small tidbit of information. The echo doubled back immediately. The room he was in was very small, probably smaller than his and Tony’s quarters back on _seaQuest_. And the lack of anyone else trying muffled noises suggested he was alone. Or, if anyone else was with him, they were still unconscious.

            “Feel better now?” the scratchy voice mocked coldly.

            Lucas let his neck muscles relax. Contact with the rock hurt the back of his head more than he expected, but he tried not to show it. Scratchy Voice Guy had to be watching and he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

            “No, I did not really expect an answer. However, you will soon learn when I _do_ expect an answer, it is to your advantage to oblige me. But I ’ave no doubt you will all insist on learning the hard way. Actually, I am counting on it.” He laughed at his private joke, reminding Lucas of every insane cliché villain from old superhero movies.

            “Welcome to Château d’If, or rather, the island where the famous prison will be built sometime in the future.”

            _Wait_. Wasn’t Château d’If the prison Dumas featured so prominently in _The Count of Monte Cristo_? And his captor said ‘ _will be_ built’? _Will be?_ Did he mean they were in the past now? That would explain the radio silence and the absence of satellites and the Naval Observatory. But how… or more importantly… _why?_

            “I ’ave brought you here for my convenience, so we will not be disturbed, and so you will be quite assured there is no ’ope of rescue.”

            Lucas heard clicking—typing or perhaps just pushing buttons.

            “You must be wondering who your fellow guests at the château are. Hmm… Captain Nathan Bridger… Commander Jonathan Ford… Lieutenant James Brody… Lieutenant Junior Grade Timothy O’Neill… Chief Warrant Officer Miguel Ortiz… Doctor Wendy Smith… Petty Officer Gregory Mitchell… Petty Of­ficer Richard Watts… Seaman Lonnie Henderson… Seaman Thomas Young… and the civilian Computer Analyst, Lucas Wolenczak.”

            _Everyone who had been on the bridge_ , Lucas realized.

            “Your little _diving canoe_ is trapped in a landlocked sea and all her bridge officers are here. There is no one to call for ’elp and no way to call them even if there were. ‘Abandon all ’ope, ye who enter here.’” He cackled again.

            _Dante’s Inferno_. He was implying they were in hell. Which meant Mr. Scratchy Voice probably fancied himself the devil. _Great_. Lucas had at least three snappy comebacks he wanted to spit out, but it would have been ridiculous to attempt it with his mouth taped. He willed his body to cease its shaking. He didn’t want this goon to realize how scared he was.

            Footsteps indicated someone was entering his tiny room. After three steps, Lucas heard something being set down a few feet from where he lay—a tray, perhaps. Then something cold touched his neck and he jerked with surprise. There was no time to react further before the familiar sound of a hypospray hissed. Lucas tried to turn his head toward where he thought the wielder was, but he found he couldn’t move his head at all. He tried to protest vocally, knowing his words would be muffled, but the muscles which controlled his vocal chords didn’t work either. He couldn’t make a peep.

            Scratchy Voice intoned, “Do not fight the paralyzer, Monsieur, or it will compensate by strengthening, thus rendering your involuntary muscles as useless as the voluntary ones.” For the first time, he sounded like he was there in person and not talking over speakers. “I do not think I need mention how _unfortunate_ that could be.”

            _Unfortunate?_ Involuntary muscles were what kept breathing and heartbeat going! If Lucas could have grit his teeth and growled, he would have. But he couldn’t.

            A ripping sound coincided with two tiny spots on his forehead stinging. _Electrodes being torn off_. Scratchy Voice Guy unfastened the restraints around his wrists and ankles, but Lucas was even more immobile now than he had been when they were in place.

            “The paralyzer will wear off shortly. When it does, you may remove the blindfold and the tape from your mouth. I strongly recommend you apply your mouth to eating, and not to futile screaming, s’il vous plaît. I ’ave much data to examine, so I bid you adieu.”

            _WAIT! Who are you? What do you want? Let me go!_

            Footsteps retreated and then just stopped. A faint electronic hum sounded. Silence, darkness, and an ominous sense of foreboding descended.


	3. Chapter 3

            Minutes ticked away about as fast as they did when Lucas was waiting for an Internex connection without satellite accelerators. About every other second, he tried to wiggle his fingers, but not too vigorously lest Scratchy Voice Guy’s warning proved true. It was probably a lie, but he couldn’t risk it. What had Captain Bridger said? Anything was possible when dealing with Mobius Holes.

            How long had he been lying there, waiting for his muscle control to return? A minute? An hour? He had no idea. If his captor was to be believed, everyone he’d ever counted on was just as helpless as he was. What was _seaQuest_ going to do, trapped in an inland sea? Deepening the straits into the Mediterranean would take years, and that was assuming they could somehow construct the proper tools—a ridiculously unworkable plan if they were as far in the past as they’d been told. Lucas didn’t even know if the remaining crew compliment would have the initiative. All that were left were a few non-commissioned officers, enlisted personnel, and the science staff. They might easily assume their vanished crewmates dead and not see any _reason_ to leave the Black Sea. If the Mobius Hole appeared again, they might simply return to their own time, leaving the entire bridge crew stranded forever in whatever hellhole they’d been sucked into.

            A flush of warmth began at his neck and radiated throughout his body. It only lasted a second or two, and when it was over, he could move. Not just a finger. The full range of muscle control returned all at once. He jammed his fingernails into the edges of the tape on his mouth and ripped it off. “Captain!” he yelled as loudly as he could. He had the cloth blindfold removed in the next instant and blinked against the light streaming through a window near the ceiling, about eight feet high.

            He jumped off the stone platform, calling again, “Captain Bridger!” His voice rebounded hollow and there was no reply. “Commander Ford? Lieutenant Brody?” He kept the volume up, but hope started to fade from his inflection. “Dr. Smith? Miguel?” He started pacing in the small cell, studying his surroundings even as he tried to make contact with his shipmates. “Tim? Lonnie? Anyone?”

            Lucas fell silent, straining to listen for the slightest noise that might indicate he’d been heard. His heart thumped in his ears and he couldn’t hear anything beyond. Frustrated, he pounded on the wall with his fists. The material absorbed the impact like stone, but it also had a metallic quality to it. Whatever it was, it was very sturdy and probably soundproof. The pounding didn’t even sound very loud on _his_ side of the wall.

            The teen sighed heavily and cast a gloomy gaze around his cell. The floor was trapezoidal. There was no doorknob or any kind of indication where a door might be. In the center of the long wall was a huge stone chair with arms and a high back, reminding Lucas of the Lincoln Memorial. On the other side of that, in the corner, was a squat metal toilet filled with blue liquid. It had no separate seat, lid, or flush mechanism that Lucas could see. In fact, it appeared to have no moving parts whatsoever. The stone bed shelf came with a folded blanket and what appeared to be a foam pillow. The converging wall across from the bed had an unsupported shelf of metallic stone sticking out to form a table. On this table sat the tray of food Scratchy Voice Guy had put there before paralyzing him.

            In the ceiling near the shortest wall was a grate, probably covering a ventilation duct. Lucas attempted standing on the bed, table, chair, and toilet, but none of them gave him enough elevation to reach the vent or the metal mesh which presumably covered the speaker he’d heard earlier. He was able to reach the window from the chair, but it wasn’t like any window he’d ever seen. There was no sign of caulk or any other seam. When Lucas ran his hand over it, it felt exactly the same in temperature, texture, and substance as the rest of the wall. It was like part of the wall was just transparent. After dutifully studying the cell’s far-too-solid defenses, he hopped back to the floor with a grunt of annoyance.

            He stared at the food tray. He wasn’t all that hungry and could have skipped eating without any discomfort, but there was no telling when he might get food again. If his captor had wanted to drug or poison him, he’d had ample opportunity without tainting the food, so Lucas figured it was probably safe. He sat on the stone chair and placed the tray on his knees. It shook from involuntary trembling he hadn’t previously been aware of. Lucas pulled his legs up and folded them cross-style so he could hold them still better.

            The meal, if you could call it that, was a four-inch section of baguette and a very bland lentil soup. The bread was a bit dry, but not hard, and the soup was lukewarm with a reasonable amount of lentils within the watery broth. _Survival first, then escape_ , he told himself as he consumed his rations dispassionately.

            After eating, he tried another round of yelling, with the same unfortunate results. It occurred to him Scratchy Voice Guy might have lied and the rest of his friends were safely back on _seaQuest_ , looking for him. Captain Bridger would never leave until he exhausted every possibility of finding him. He might send the boat and the rest of his crew back through time, but he’d stay behind if he had the slightest hope. Ford would want to stay back with him, but he’d be needed to command the _seaQuest_ and he’d respect Bridger enough to obey his last order. Lucas couldn’t begin to guess who else might request permission to stay with the captain in this pre-technology nightmare or how many he might grant permission to. Probably none.

            However, thinking his friends were free was probably far too wishful anyhow. Scratchy Voice Guy had obviously been on the bridge. Whatever he was after, surely some teen hacker wasn’t the best person to supply it. More than likely, he really _did_ take prisoner everyone he’d mentioned. But the question remained…what did this crackpot _want_?

            Lucas set the empty tray back on the shelf where he’d found it and paced the room, trying to calm his nerves and think. Just what was he supposed to _do_ in here? He wanted to dig up information on this Frenchman, but a computer would be useless. The Internex wasn’t operating and the internal database on _seaQuest_ wouldn’t have information on the future. Even if they were in the past now, Mobius Hole technology had to come from the future. _What in the world did people do before computers?_

            _Okay, so I can’t figure out who he is. But that doesn’t mean I can’t make trouble._ Mr. Scratchy Voice had requested quiet, so Lucas decided to give him the opposite.

            “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall; Ninety-nine bottles of beer…” he sang loudly and off-key. He’d just keep going until his voice gave out or until someone whose rest he cared about responded. There was a good chance absolutely _no one_ could hear him, including the jerk he wanted to annoy. But at least it gave him something to do and it made _him_ feel better.

            Along about the eighty-sixth bottle of beer, the speaker in his cell crackled a half-second of static before Scratchy Voice Guy spoke: “Monsieur Wolenczak, desist your caterwauling immediately.”

            Lucas grinned, raised his voice even louder, and continued where he’d left off, “If one of those bottles should happen to fall—”

            He heard a faint hiss from the ventilation grate. His legs buckled underneath him and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cell diagram:  
> http://underseaadventure.net/cell.gif


	4. Chapter 4

            When consciousness returned, his head hurt. Passing out while sitting at a console was definitely more advisable than passing out while standing upright in a prison cell. Lucas’s first inclination was to find the bump and rub it, but another second of lucidity proved he wouldn’t be able to. He was no longer on the floor of his cell. His eyes didn’t seem to be hindered by a blindfold, but he couldn’t see anyhow. It was pitch black, with not even a trace of moonlight to see by. He stood facing a wall, his shirtless chest pressed against the metallic stone (or was it stony metal?) held tight by a restraining strap just below his waist. At least he still had his jeans on. His ankles were fastened by the same immovable restraints he’d felt when lying on his back.

            His arms had been shoved through two holes in the wall situated at exactly the right height. He could feel the wall’s thickness through the holes—no more than two inches thick, but it didn’t constrict around his biceps. Although his wrists were not bound, he couldn’t pull his upper body far enough away from the wall to get his elbows clear. He flailed his arms about, trying to feel whatever was on the other side, but it was just empty air.

            Lucas found himself shivering. The wall was a bit cold against his bare chest, but not _that_ cold. _Man, I should have shut up when Scratchy Voice Guy said to_. Would he get a chance to apologize?

            “Ah, Monsieur Wolenczak, I see you are awake again. Très bon.” Scratchy Voice was in the room, close by.

            “Hey look, I’m sorr—”

            The Frenchman clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. You ’ave already spoken out of turn and defied me and for that you ’ave earned the distinction of being first to collect your official _welcome_ to Château d’If. I assure you, you do not wish to make it worse.”

            Lucas gulped. His heart was racing so fast he couldn’t think straight. He shivered in the darkness.

            “While they will no doubt be jealous, I do believe your friends should be allowed audience so they might see what awaits each of them in turn.”

            Without warning, the room became fully illuminated by artificial light. Lucas blinked a few times while his eyes adjusted. He turned his head toward where he’d heard his captor’s scratchy voice. The man was tall and lanky, with short, curly hair the color of wheat. He wore a thin mustache and a cruel grin. Deep blue eyes bore into Lucas menacingly.

            Whether from fear or from curiosity, Lucas wasn’t sure, but he quickly turned his face away to study the rest of the room. He immediately saw two cells exactly like his, with men in _seaQuest_ jumpsuits strapped into the stone chairs. He understood why the cells were trapezoidal now. The building was a twelve-sided polygon, with the trapezoidal cells circling the center room where he was now. The center-facing walls were not quite transparent, but grayed, like tinted glass, and translucent enough he could see straight through.

            The Frenchman stepped toward him and Lucas flinched.

            “Not yet, Monsieur. We must let everyone see your _charming little face_ so they can be properly jealous.” He chuckled darkly and shoved the wall Lucas was strapped to. Both the floor and the wall moved. Looking down, he confirmed he was on a rolling platform no more than three feet in diameter. Scratchy Voice rolled him toward the cell he was facing. Inside, he could see Miguel, struggling in vain against the bonds which held him to the chair. His hair was in disarray around his face, uncharacteristic for his usually well-kept mane. His mouth was moving sharply, but Lucas couldn’t hear even a hint of the voice. He appeared to be screaming, probably using every expletive he knew in both English and Spanish.

            “Miguel!” Lucas called, but the Frenchman only paused long enough for Lucas to see inside the cell and be recognized by its occupant.

            Tom Young was in the next cell, strapped to his stone chair exactly like Miguel and struggling just as aggressively. The third cell held Commander Ford. It wasn’t hard to read his lips, screaming, “Luuuucas.”

            Lucas tried to hold back the weight of emotions, but he felt so helpless, watching all his friends thrashing around desperately and trying to scream loud enough to be heard. He managed to choke out, “Commander!” in acknowledge­ment just before being wheeled away to the next room’s translucent wall.

            The fourth cell held Greg Mitchell; the fifth held Lonnie. Although Lucas could see more of the chair around her thin frame, her wrists and ankles appeared to be clamped just as tightly as the men’s. Her face was red and her eyes were wet and though she made an effort to cheer up for his sake, her attempt failed and she wept openly. Lucas’s heart skipped and his breath caught in his throat.

            He turned his head around toward the Frenchman. “Let them go. Please. I promise I’ll shut up. I’ll do whatever you want.”

            Scratchy Voice threw his head back and laughed maniacally. “Bien sûr! Of course you will do what I want. I do not ’ave to part with any of my subjects for that to ’appen, young man…”

            _Subjects?_ Did he fancy himself some sort of king or emperor? Lucas listened, hoping this cruel joke would at least provide some clues to this lunatic’s motives.

            “But it was most entertaining to listen to your plea, Monsieur. _Vraiment_. I will reduce your punishment by two lashes for the amusement.”

            _Lashes? Punishment?_ His back was bare and he was immobile. This didn’t sound good at all. “Come on. I haven’t done anything. You haven’t even asked me any questions. Give me a chance. I’ll cooperate. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He didn’t really think he’d be willing to tell him _anything_ , but at least an interrogation would give Lucas some idea of what he was up against. And any stall tactic had to be valuable in and of itself.

            He laughed again, a dry and mirthless cackle. “What makes you think you would know anything I do not? You ’ave no information for me. Nothing at all.”

            “Then what do you _want_?” Lucas cried frantically.

            “Ah, but do you not comprehend, Monsieur? My information said you were quite the genius.” Scratchy Voice Guy reached up and patted his cheek firmly, mockingly, and backed away.

            “Just what are you going to do to me?”

            The question went unanswered. Unfortunately, Lucas already had a pretty good idea. He just didn’t want to believe it. The next cell was empty, but he recognized his plaid shirt lying on the chair. That meant his cell was next to Lonnie’s. That bit of information might be useful at some point, he hoped.

            The next cell held Captain Bridger. Lucas couldn’t help but be encouraged with the discovery that the captain’s cell was next to his. Bridger was red in the face, but definitely not from crying. He was filled with rage and frustration and Lucas felt as badly for his predicament as his own. Though his lip quivered, he mouthed a feeble “Captain?” The captain looked away from the object of his wrath and caught Lucas’s gaze. His face changed, looking both deeply regretful and encouraging at the same time. His lips mouthed, “Love you, kiddo.”

            Lucas nodded understanding of the silent message. Tears rolled down his cheek and he was glad to be hurried to the next cell. Rick Watts, whom Lucas only knew by name, somehow still managed to induce a wave of sympathy for his trapped and cornered condition. Lucas wouldn’t wish this on anyone, even a perfect stranger. But leaving no time for sentimentality, he was whisked to the cell holding Tim.

            For an officer whose job required keeping his words and inflection diplomatic, Tim sure didn’t appear to have the ability to do either at the moment. His hair was flopping about like Miguel’s, but he didn’t have the length or volume of hair as the sensor chief, so Tim’s face was more visible. His glasses had fallen down his nose a bit, but even though Lucas knew how badly he needed them to see, Tim was so focused on struggling he didn’t seem to notice the precarious position of his eyewear. Lucas couldn’t remember ever seeing the communications officer look so enraged and aggressive. The teen blurted out the first thing that popped into his head, “Watch your glasses, Tim!” but felt stupid for it immediately after. At least he had the consolation of knowing the wall was soundproof.

            After Tim came Brody. The lieutenant’s monumental efforts to break free inspired Lucas to try again himself, but the Frenchman must have made some sort of threatening gesture because Brody shook his head and screamed what looked like, “No!” as he halted his own efforts.

            Dejected, Lucas nodded. It was useless anyway. Scratchy Voice Guy wheeled the platform to the back of the room, against the two walls that were still solid. A slight jolt and loud click told Lucas the platform had locked in place on the floor. The teen renewed his efforts to break free of his restraints, trembling uncontrollably as panic hit him like a wave crashing on rocks.

            “First we must create a suitable _milieu_ ,” the Frenchman said with the air of a stage director. Lucas could no longer see him, but he heard buttons pressing. An electronic hum sounded and then the walls to the cells morphed from translucent and soundproof into suddenly just not there at all. A cacophony of screams filled the room as the voices of all his shipmates lambasted their captor with demands to free them, threats against his life and various body parts, and a dizzying array of invectives which one might expect coming from sailors, well-educated officers, and a language expert of O’Neill’s caliber. The latter spewed most of his tirade in French, so fast and furious that Lucas, who knew a bit of the language himself, couldn’t even follow. But by the tone, he could tell whatever Tim was saying, it wasn’t diplomatic.

            The threats and invectives gradually dissolved into pleas and desperate appeals to allow an exchange. One by one, every single one of them, including Lonnie and Rick, offered to take his place. Their pitiful entreaties spurred Lucas to tears.

            Scratchy Voice sighed melodramatically. “Ah, très magnifique, mes amis! You do not disappoint. Merci beaucoup. The stage is set. Next, I think we should ’ave a sympathetic figure to hold the young man’s ’and.”

            At this, Captain Bridger erupted, “I should be the one. He’s my responsibility.”

            “Tsk, tsk. We cannot ’ave the brave leader stooping to such sappy nonsense. I ’ad someone else in mind.”

            Lucas realized just then that he’d never seen Dr. Smith in her cell and immedi­ately reconciled it with this new revelation. This madman wanted _her_ to hold his hand because she was an empath and would therefore feel all his pain. His suspicion was confirmed in seconds when his captive friends all yelled, “Wendy!” and “Leave her alone!” along with the usual strong epithets.

            Lucas couldn’t see her behind the wall he was pressed against, but he felt two small, cold hands with soft skin grasp his shaking fingers. He also heard a snapping sound coming from approximately where he guessed the doctor’s ankles might be. At least she didn’t have the restraint around her waist and he didn’t tie her hands to his. She could let go if it got to be too much.

            “I know you’re frightened, Lucas,” she whispered. He could hear her through gaps in the arm holes. Her voice was choked with emotion and wavering. “It’s all right. I’m not leaving you.” She squeezed both hands firmly.

            Lucas couldn’t muster any words, nor could he calm his fears or stop the tears.

            “It’s okay to cry. I’m crying too. You don’t have to act brave.”

            Sobs racked his trembling frame, but he held tight to her hands, drawing strength from her presence. She continued speaking softly, probably trying to calm him with any distraction she could conceive. “I know you wish the captain could trade places with me, but he really wants to trade places with _you_. You know he would if he could, right?”

            “Why do any of us have to be here?” he wailed. “I just want us all out of here.”

            “So very poignant, Monsieur,” Scratchy Voice intoned, his voice dripping with false compassion. “But I must interrupt your little tête-à-tête to introduce the ’eralds who will bestow your welcome.”

            A door opened somewhere and Lucas heard footsteps. Dr. Smith said, “Don’t look, Lucas. You don’t need to see. Just concentrate on my voice.”

            “I must disagree, Mademoiselle. It would be—’ow do you say?—rude not to meet his welcoming committee.”

            _Committee?_ Just what did this lunatic have in mind? Grudgingly, Lucas turned his face toward the footsteps. Two very large men who looked like they’d spent decades loading freight pallets without forklifts stood in his line of sight.

            “The proper greeting is ‘Bonjour’, Monsieur Wolenczak,” Scratchy Voice said condescendingly.

            Lucas gulped. Did he really have to talk to these brutes? Since he was scared out of his wits and didn’t have the strength to contemplate the consequences of refusing, he swallowed the phlegm accumulated from crying and croaked, “Bonjour.”

            When Tim realized the thugs spoke French, he renewed his entreaties, addressing them with fervor, but they didn’t even turn to look at him. Scratchy Voice passed in front of view with a large bucket in hand. He spoke to his big-armed lackeys and held out the bucket. From what Lucas could make out, it sounded like he told them to ‘select tools’.

            They reached into the bucket and pulled out wooden handles. Lucas heard dripping.

            Like a professor lecturing a class, Scratchy Voice raised his volume and addressed his captive audience. “As you all no doubt know, the cat-o-nine-tails has a long and illustrious tradition at sea, ’aving been employed as recently as the twentieth century by the British Royal Navy…”

            _Cat-o-nine-tails? As in ‘whip’?_ Was he serious? _Just for singing_ “ _99 Bottles of Beer”_ _?_ Lucas found his voice again. “Wait! Can’t we talk about this? How about sending me to bed without supper? Don’t you need someone to clean the toilets or wash dishes? How about solitary confinement for a month?” He really didn’t want to be there that long, but if he could just forestall this, maybe they’d escape.

            The empathic doctor whispered softly, “He won’t listen, Lucas. You just feed his frenzy when you beg for mercy.”

            Scratchy Voice didn’t seem to notice her whisper any more than he enter­tained Lucas’s plea. He continued his speech almost without losing a beat. “…I ’ave, of course, taken the traditional measures and soaked the cords in sea­water. This adds to their weight, but it also acts as a primitive antiseptic.”

            _Yeah, and it’s the basis for the adage, ‘throwing salt in the wounds’_ , Lucas thought darkly. The reflection drew another wave of trembling.

            Captain Bridger’s voice interrupted. “And do you honor the tradition that such disciplinary measures in the Royal Navy were always at _the captain’s_ discretion and performed _by him_ or his _appointed agent_?”

            Lucas pictured the cat-o-nine in Bridger’s control. Sure, he’d be beating someone with it, but it would be Scratchy Voice and not a member of his crew, least of all Lucas.

            The Frenchman chuckled deeply. “Bravo, Monsieur Capitaine. You are a well-informed student of naval history. And if we were on your _soob-marine_ and this young man were under your command, you might ’ave a point. But Monsieur Wolenczak is a civilian, non?”

            “He’s still under my command.”

            Lucas wanted to confirm it, to proudly associate himself with the _seaQuest_ and his captain, but something told him to keep his mouth shut. It only weakened the captain’s point to have him speaking when he wasn’t asked.

            Their captor didn’t appear to give the argument any thought before answering. “Ah, but navy captains ’ad an annoying ’abit of ’olding back because they could not afford to ’ave even the lowly deck-swabbers incapacitated.”

            “Incapaci—” Captain Bridger’s angry voice was cut off abruptly.

            “It is of no consequence, since this is Château d’If, where we will follow the traditions of its use as a judicial instrument. Much less restrictive.”

            “Good try, Nathan,” Dr. Smith sighed.

            Scratchy Voice Guy gave instructions to the thugs, directing one to Lucas’s right side and the other to his left. “Dix-neuf, _seulement_ ,” he reminded them firmly.

            _Dix-neuf is nineteen._ Did he mean nineteen total or nineteen _each_?

            The Frenchman backed away, out of view. “I ’ad originally planned forty lashes, but I gave Monsieur Wolenczak my word to reduce it by two, so ’is sentence stands at thirty-eight.”

            Cries of outrage sprung up from every cell, accompanied by gasps and grunts as the prisoners all renewed their efforts to break free of their restraints. The captain’s voice was no longer among them. Lucas could only hope his cell wall was blocking sight as well as sound.

            The teen opened his mouth to plead again, but he remembered Dr. Smith’s insight. The last thing this Frenchman needed was more fuel for his frenzy. Trembling uncontrollably, Lucas stood fast and resigned himself to the inevitable. He squeezed his eyes shut and compressed the doctor’s soft hands as tightly as his shattered nerves would allow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prison complex diagram:  
> http://underseaadventure.net/theatre.gif


	5. Chapter 5

            Scratchy Voice Guy called, “Commence!”

            The trembling teen tensed. The cords of the cat-o-nine whistled through the air and an ear-splitting whack sounded when the blow hit his mid-back, erupting in fiery pain. He screamed. Wendy whimpered and squeezed his hand tighter. He didn’t have time to catch his breath before another stroke hit him from the opposite side. He thrashed around and groaned.

            On and on they pounded, lashing and crashing and cutting into both skin and muscle, rending him to the bone. Searing, throbbing pain consumed both mind and body. He couldn’t think about anything but hurting. The fiery tentacles of the two cat-o-nines licked his sides, the back of his neck, and over his shoulders. Most of the strokes were so forceful that they knocked the air from his lungs and made it impossible to scream. He couldn’t keep count, but it had to have been somewhere in the late twenties when the pain overloaded his nervous system to the point that new lashes didn’t have the same bite and a semblance of rational thinking became possible.

            He suddenly realized he couldn’t hear any of his friends anymore. Had they finally given up shouting at the Frenchman, or were they all so horror-struck as to be speechless?

            In answer to his unspoken question, Dr. Smith gasped, “They can see and hear everything, Lucas. The madman just wanted to concentrate on _your_ screams and mine. He made the walls soundproof again.”

            Lucas didn’t have the strength to talk, but he found the diversion of conversation appealing. She had already read his mind, maybe she could do it some more. _Keep talking to me, if you can_.

            Her voice was a raspy whisper. “I’m sorry for the mind invasion, but I don’t have the strength to shut down my senses like I normally do.”

            A particularly vicious stroke landed on a patch of flesh that had somehow escaped previous contact and the sensory overload mechanism disengaged to herald the slashing of new skin. Having somewhat caught his breath, Lucas cried out pitifully. New sobs shook his frame and still the torturers persisted.

            “I can feel _his_ pleasure every time you scream.”

            _I—I can’t control it._

            “Don’t try to,” she groaned around her words. “He derives just as much satisfaction to see you stifle it. You can’t win.”

            He knew she was right. But didn’t _she_ have a choice? The wall was shielding her from view. _If you think you can get away with it, go ahead and let go. I won’t say anything._

            “We’re already linked, Lucas. I can’t shut off my empathic senses just by letting go now. Besides, I know our physical connection is helping you. And helping you, even in a small way, is the only thing helping _me_.”

            _How is the captain doing?_ “Owww!” he yelled, followed by incoherent moaning. __

She tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. “I can’t believe you have the strength to worry about him right now!”

            _I don’t. I just need to get my mind off of me, off of what is happening. Just talk about anything but me._ He grunted and panted weakly. __

“Well, since you asked, Nathan is beyond furious at the moment. He’s filled with blind hatred. If he could get free, that Frenchman wouldn’t stand a chance.”

            _Do you think we could persuade him to take out Hans and Frans first?_ The doctor didn’t seem to understand, but he recalled to memory the retro Saturday Night Live sketches he’d dug up on the Internex—a spoof of German-accented body builders who did bad television ads, using the phrase, “We want to pump… _you_ up.” How odd that had popped in his head just now. But attaching humorous nicknames was about the only recourse he had against the thugs who were beating the skin off his back.

            She managed a weak chuckle. “Yeah, I think they’d all be dead meat in a matter of seconds.”

            And then there was silence. Lucas’s back throbbed hotter and hotter as the nerves had time to catch up with what they’d been tricked into temporarily ignoring.

            _Is it over?_ He was still trembling and sobbing too much to talk. The restraints were the only thing holding him upright. He knew he didn’t have the strength to stand, even leaning against a wall.

            She lowered her voice even quieter, probably afraid of being heard now that the whooshing, cracking, and smacking had ended. “I think so.”

            The Frenchman applauded. “Bravo, Monsieur et Mademoiselle, bravo.”

            _Is he kidding? He flails my back to ribbons and now he’s **clapping**? Please don’t tell me this is his excuse for an encore._

            Dr. Smith didn’t answer right away. She must have been trying to read the Frenchman. At length she whispered, “Not for you, not today.”

            Lucas felt there was more she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t have the mental energy to press her. He couldn’t begin to process the notion of another punishment like this. He swore he’d never sing that infernal beer song ever, _ever_ again.

            “He’s going to separate us now,” she whispered. Her voice was troubled, but not the same way it had been since the ordeal started.

            _Thanks for holding my hands._

            “I wish I could hold them longer,” she choked out.

            “Ah, so touching,” Scratchy Voice mocked right before Lucas heard the hiss of a hypospray. Since he hadn’t felt the instrument, he assumed it had been used on Dr. Smith. Her hands were forcibly pried from his grip.

            Lucas gathered his voice together, reaching deep within to have enough air to speak, and rasped, “D-Don’t hurt her… _please_.”

            “She ’as served ’er purpose, _pour le moment_ ,” the Frenchman said indiffer­ently. He turned to where the muscle dudes stood and babbled to them in French.

            Lucas didn’t care enough to try to translate. His back was a throbbing mass of shredded flesh and the woman who’d been forced to share its shredding had just been ripped mercilessly from his grasp. If he hadn’t been strapped to the wall, he would have fallen to a heap on the floor. All he could do was groan and take shuddering breaths. Hans and Frans hurried toward the back of the wall, one of them dropping his cat-o-nine where Lucas could see it. He couldn’t believe how puny it looked. He’d imagined the cords longer, thicker, and having razor blades or barbed wire or something tied to them. But it was just a handle with nine bloody little braided strings and a few knots.

            The contents of his stomach spewed out of his mouth without warning. It surprised him because he’d never really been squeamish about blood before. He’d watched Dr. Westphalen perform surgery, for goodness sake. _Great, just what I need right now, vomit in my mouth_. He coughed and tried to spit the acidic taste out.

            From the sound of the footsteps, Lucas figured the thug twins were hauling the paralyzed Dr. Smith off to her cell. He was probably next. Too bad he couldn’t get Scratchy Voice to use that knockout gas instead of the muscle para­lyzer. Unconsciousness would feel awesome about now. But so far, the Frenchman had used the hypospray when he was already immobilized and the gas when he wasn’t.

            “Your opening night was a grand success, Monsieur. But do not rest on your laurels. You shall ’ave another performance soon.”

            Lucas didn’t see it coming, but he felt the cold metal on his neck and heard the hiss of the hypospray. _Damn, I had such a good comeback that time_. He’d hoped that the paralyzer would abate at least a little of the sting, but it was wish­ful thinking. He couldn’t move or talk, but the pain remained.

            Scratchy Voice waited until Hans and Frans were ready to catch him, and then he removed the restraints at Lucas’s ankles and waist. The thugs grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled his arms out through the holes in the wall. They weren’t at all careful about where they touched him and Lucas’s eyes watered at the new pain. But under the influence of the paralyzer, he couldn’t cringe, scream, or even groan. _At least I don’t have to walk_. He didn’t think he could have anyway.

            Hans and Frans dragged him off the wall platform and toward the cells. He heard footsteps following. Most of the cell walls were back in place, but he could still see his shirt on the chair in the cell they were headed to. He’d wondered when the soundproofing stopped whether the walls simply became invisible like the window or whether they actually dematerialized. When he was dragged right through the opening, he had his answer.

            The Frenchman prattled to the thugs and Lucas’s hurt-saturated mind managed to decipher it as directions on where to toss his mangled carcass. They lifted him up to the stone platform and laid him face down (thank goodness), facing the wall. Scratchy Voice Guy gave some more instructions to his lackeys, but Lucas ignored him. _Just get out of here and leave me alone_.

            He heard clumsy movements and a grouchy interchange in French between Hans and Frans before they left. Lone footsteps brought something that sloshed around when it was deposited on the table. _Probably more of that stupid lentil soup_. Lucas couldn’t even think about eating now. The acid taste was still in his mouth and his stomach wasn’t that calm either. He wasn’t sure if Scratchy Voice had left yet, it was so quiet, but he sure had better be gone when the paralyzer wore off. Shredded back or not, if he was physically able to strangle the man who’d done this to him, he would certainly try.

            Just as he started to plot for this highly unlikely scenario, he heard Hans and Frans grunting and stumbling about, like they were carrying something heavy or cumbersome. Whatever it was, they dropped it on the chair in his cell with a dull thud. Lucas cursed the fact he was staring at the wall and couldn’t turn his head to see what they’d brought in. He shuddered to think it could be another torture device. _Yeah, great, let me spend a few days staring at it while my back is on fire and then after I’ve imagined how much it’s gonna hurt, then use it on me._

There was a little more racket, like rummaging for tools in a box, then an object or two was set on the floor near his bed. The Frenchman dismissed his thugs and then leaned over to whisper in Lucas’s ear. His hot breath reeked of cheese and wine. Every fiber of Lucas’s consciousness wanted to cram a fist in his face or at least spit in his eye, but the poor kid couldn’t even sneer.

            “Bonne nuit, Monsieur Wolenczak.” The madman ran his hand across Lucas’s open wounds like he was finger-painting in his blood and then he strolled out. Lucas heard the electronic hum he’d heard when the walls morphed before, and then sudden darkness revealed the wall had rematerialized back in place.


	6. Chapter 6

            Once the object of his rage was out of reach, Lucas no longer cared about when the paralyzer wore off. It hurt too much to move anyway. He just wanted the searing pain to dull enough so he could sleep. He wanted to escape the sensation of pain as well as its nagging reminder of the horror he’d endured. Narcotics sure would be nice right now, but obtaining them didn’t seem likely in this century, much less allowed by the madman who reveled in his misery.

            His eyes adjusted to the dimness as he stared blankly at the wall. There must have been some moonlight coming in through that high window. He remembered the captain’s bed was right on the other side of the very wall he stared at and Lucas imagined him lying there, so close and yet so far. He yearned to be drawn into his arms and hear him say everything was going to be all right. If Captain Bridger said it, then he could count on it. Lucas glared at the wall as if his glower might melt the barrier between them. It didn’t even have to dematerialize. _Just let me **see** him,_ he thought miserably.

            He felt the wave of warmth and his voice gave sound to his whimpering, which meant the paralyzer had worn off. Slowly, he pulled his right hand out from under his belly and pressed his palm against the wall. He imagined Captain Bridger pressing his hand likewise on the other side and if they both pretended the wall was gone, then maybe…

            “Lucas?”

            He jumped, but it made every muscle scream in pain. _Who? How?_ Was he hallucinating?

            “Are you asleep?” Lonnie’s voice was barely a whisper. Hans and Frans had delivered her paralyzed body into his room and dumped her in his chair. _But why?_

            “Hurts too much to sleep,” he croaked.

            Lonnie stood and approached him, then gently laid her hand on his shoulder as if she was afraid she’d hurt him even where the skin was intact. “That bastard lunatic said he’d be watching us, so we have to be careful. If we talk about prison defenses or escape, he’ll punish _you_ for it. I don’t want that to happen.”

            She crouched for a second and picked up whatever object their jailers had left on the floor. It was dark and he hurt too much to move, but he could make out a little oil lamp and a box of wooden matches. “Do you want me to light this thing?” she whispered.

            “Sure,” Lucas groaned.

            She tried to strike the match on the metallic stone wall, but it didn’t work, probably too slick. She struck it on the box instead and lit the wick. While it wasn’t exactly as bright as a light bulb, it was certainly better than the dark.

            “God, look what they’ve done to you,” she gasped.

            He wasn’t sure he’d want to see even if he had a mirror, which he didn’t. “Pass, thanks.” She took a step away. “Please don’t leave me.”

            She chuckled softly. “We’re locked in a prison cell, Lucas. I couldn’t leave you if I wanted to. I just came over to get this medicated wash. It might help stop the bleeding.” She had grabbed a shallow tub off the table and was back at his side before she finished speaking.

            Lucas felt stupid for having said anything.

            Lonnie fished a cloth out of the water and squeezed it out. The water trickling back into the tub sounded soothing. It smelled like there had been some kind of antiseptic added, possibly betadine. “What, was salt too _primitive_ for you?” he yelled toward the speaker on the ceiling.

            “Shush! Do you want him to beat you some _more_?”

            No. He definitely didn’t need any more beating. He’d blurted it out on impulse. “Sorry,” he muttered more to Lonnie than the ceiling.

            “Are you ready for me to touch you?”

            “Yeah, just ignore my flinching and screaming,” he said sarcastically. The liquid stung on his tortured flesh and bit his tongue to keep from blubbering like a complete idiot.

            “I won’t ignore it, but that doesn’t mean you should try to hold it back either. If it feels better to scream, then go ahead and scream.”

            _Man, she sounds just like Dr. Westphalen._ He stopped stifling his groans and moans. They came in torrents now.

            “Sorry,” Lonnie said.

            Lucas gasped deeply. “Not your fault,” he choked.

            “I’m the one touching you.”

            He coughed and shuddered a few times before continuing. “Oh yeah, I just regularly scream my head off when someone washes my back.”

            “I can’t believe you can joke at a time like this.”

            “What better time?”

            There was a long break in the conversation. Lucas still groaned a lot. Lonnie ran the cloth over his wounds as gently as she could, but it hurt like hell. He tried not to think about it. “Um, Lonnie? Could you just talk to me? Doesn’t matter what about—anything but this place.”

            He could tell she didn’t want to, but she must have sensed how important it was to him to get his mind off his stupid, throbbing back, so she started prattling on about her stuffed bear, Addison, and her dad’s solar station and some weird avant-garde movie she’d recently seen. Nothing she talked about was particu­larly interesting, but since he didn’t think he’d be able to remember a word of it anyhow, it didn’t matter. It was just being there and her voice was calm and comforting and she cared whether her touch hurt him. If she could think about trivia then maybe one day he could do that again too.

            His back would heal and he’d get past this. Captain Bridger and Commander Ford would figure a way out of here and they could all go home to _seaQuest_. He wasn’t so sure they’d get back to their own time, or if they’d ever get out of the Black Sea, but he didn’t really care. The _seaQuest_ didn’t need anything but seawater to run. Sure, they might have to engineer ways to get around replacement parts, but compared to being this psychopath’s whipping boy, that wouldn’t be so bad.

            Lucas didn’t notice when Lonnie finished washing. “Are you cold, Lucas?”

            He hadn’t realized he was shivering. “Yeah, I guess I am.” And now he thought about it, it became hard not to. He didn’t know how he could feel searing, burning heat and bone-chilling cold in the same place at the same time, but that was exactly how he felt. _Probably in shock._

            “Do you want your shirt back on?”

            Getting his shirt on would require lifting his chest off the bed and even with her help, he didn’t think he could manage it. “Maybe just lay it over me,” he groaned.

            She set the tub of water on the floor somewhere and grabbed his shirt off the chair. It hurt his back less than the washing and it felt good not to have the wounds exposed to air anymore. He still felt cold though. “I think there’s a blanket somewhere…”

            She looked around. “Got it.” She had it unfolded and draped over his shivering form in seconds. “Better?”

            “Yeah. Thanks.” While he wasn’t comfortable by any means, he had grown somewhat used to the throbbing now and could perhaps fall asleep. “I’d offer you my bed but…”

            “Don’t be crazy. I’m sure they’ll be coming for me any second, but there’s no way I’d take your bed even if they didn’t.”

            _Of course._ Now that she’d cleaned and sanitized him, she’d be gassed and dragged back to her own cell. “I don’t think the floor is any less comfortable anyway,” Lucas said. He was, after all, lying on a slab of rock.

            She chuckled. “True.” Her voice turned more sympathetic. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Lucas?”

            He felt silly asking, but she’d been there for him in that undersea cavern when he’d drawn the short straw and thought he was going to die, and that time, no one had locked her in with him. She wouldn’t take this the wrong way. “Would you just hold my hand until they come for you?”

            She didn’t answer, but she lifted his hand and held it, then placed her other hand on the back of his. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

            “Yeah.”

            “I’d never been so scared in all my life and there you were, some cocky kid who hadn’t even been to boot camp, a kid who by all the reg books didn’t even belong on the bridge, yet there you were, telling _me_ everything was going to be okay.”

            “And was I right?”

            “I don’t think I’ve ever known you to be wrong.”

            He’d been wrong plenty of times. She probably knew it too. But no one was keeping count on who was right how many times, or who had helped whom the most. If he knew one truth about his _seaQuest_ family, they were always there for each other and no one kept score.

            “Lonnie,” he whispered.

            “Yeah Lucas?”

            “We’re going to be okay this time too.”

            She sniffled and her voice wavered, “But how do you _know_? Your back looks like it’s been through a meat grinder.”

            He tried to sound upbeat despite his pain and the overwhelming suspicion she might have a point. “So I’ll have a fantastic scar that’ll get me loads of sympathy points with girls.”

            She forced a chuckle through her tears.

            “I’d tell you how I know, but you said Monsieur Scratchy Voice was listen­ing and I dare not ruin the surprise _for him_. Just trust me. You’ve never known me to be wrong, right?”

            She sucked up her tears and patted the back of his hand. “No, you’re never wrong.”

            A deep cackle emanated from the speaker in the ceiling, growing in both volume and villainy. “There’s always a first time, Monsieur, always a first time.”

            A hiss sounded in the ventilation grate. The last thing Lucas remembered was Lonnie crumpling to the floor while still holding his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

            Lucas awoke to pain. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, nor did he care. Sunlight illuminated the room, but weakly, like it was cloudy or twilight. All his muscles, not just the ones in his mincemeat back, felt stiff and sore. He didn’t want to move, but nature called. Slowly, and with large doses of wincing and groaning, he maneuvered himself off the stone bed and into standing. His legs trembled, barely holding him up. He took tiny, wavering steps, holding onto the bed first, then the chair, and then the wall.

            He took care of his business and the liquid flushed without any kind of action from him. Had he not been so miserable, he might have tried to figure out how the toilet worked, but right now, he couldn’t care less. He glanced at the table. The tub Lonnie had used was gone and in its place was a tray of food—a foot-long baguette this time, some sort of orange vegetable ( _was it carrots or yams?_ ) a fairly large hunk of cheese, and some kind of meat. He sniffed, but couldn’t smell anything, which meant it was probably already cold.

            The two or three steps it would take to reach the food just didn’t seem worth it, not to mention, if he tried to carry the tray, he’d have no way to stabilize his steps. His stomach was a little queasy anyway. He headed back to the bed platform. His shirt had fallen off when he stood up and he decided this was a good time to put it on. He leaned against the bed while he tried to get his arms into the sleeves—a task which turned out more painful than he’d expected. But once he had it back on, he was glad he’d gone to the trouble. It was silly, he knew, but he felt less exposed and vulnerable.

            Lucas eased himself slowly onto the bed, lying on his side this time. He knew he had wrap-around wounds—painful slashes on his tender armpits and ribs, but his chest and stomach needed relief from the hard stone more than his sides needed to avoid it. He chose to face the wall again, turning his mangled back outward, toward the rest of the cell.

            He pulled the blanket over his shoulder, placed his palm against the wall, and closed his eyes. “I’m okay, Captain,” he whispered as he drifted off into fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

            The days and nights blurred into each other. Lucas wouldn’t even know whether it had been minutes, hours, or days except for the exchange of his food tray. The food always came after a deep sleep, but he wasn’t sure if it was natural or otherwise. He forced himself to eat for the sake of strength, whether he felt hungry or not. He reckoned the full tray was about enough for a day’s rations and therefore every new tray probably meant a new day. Unless he was losing his mind as well as the skin off his back, it had only really been three days since his thrashing and not the month he sometimes imagined it.

            His shirt was stuck to whatever had oozed from his wounds and dried into the fabric. He just left it stuck. Wasn’t like he had a clean shirt to change into anyway. Besides, without a shower, there was no point to changing. A shower did sound good though. He must be getting better if he was willing to consider spraying water on his wounds.

            Lucas regretted having offered to endure solitary confinement. Scratchy Voice may have taken it to mean he didn’t care about seeing his friends. Maybe they were all having meals together or jogging laps around the torture chamber without him. Lonnie probably told everyone he was fine, so they all figured he was a wuss, lying around and milking his situation, like the nerd getting excused from P.E. to attend an extra course in theoretical physics.

            He paced his cell, mumbling and grumbling to himself. He was hurting, lonely, and bored out of his skull. “Hey!” he yelled to the ceiling. “How about a movie night, hmm? A book, maybe?”

            He hadn’t really expected an answer, so when the speaker crackled with static, he almost jumped out of his skin. “Looking for entertainment, Monsieur Wolenczak? I quite agree. Sit down.”

            Lucas frowned. This stank like Kreigslight. “Why?”

            A hiss of gas toppled him to the floor and Scratchy Voice taunted his unconscious body, “Because I said so.”

 

* * *

 

            When Lucas came to, he was immobile in a seated position, his wrists and ankles clamped down tight. The pain caused by the pressure to his back was nearly unbearable. It was pitch black like it had been when he woke up strapped to the whipping wall. He couldn’t tell where he was. His head hurt again. Probably hit the floor when he collapsed. _Note to self: next time Scratchy Voice says to sit, just do it_. It wasn’t worth it to be impertinent with this guy.

            For a while, Lucas stared blankly into space, hoping his eyes would adjust so he could get his bearings. His sight never improved. There simply wasn’t any light to see by. He considered yelling into the void, but he was afraid of drawing unwanted attention. As long as the Frenchman thought he was unconscious, he was safer. It took all of his concentration to keep from moaning over the pain in his back.

            After what seemed hours, he heard a crackle of static and the scratchy voice being piped through a speaker. He exhaled a sigh of relief that he wasn’t in the same room with that madman. “As promised, it is time for another one of you to receive your welcome.”

            Lucas tensed. He was going to have to watch one of his crewmates endure the same whipping he’d so recently received. While he had no doubt it’d been hard for his friends to watch when it was him, it had to be worse when you already knew what that whooshing, whistling, whacking, and smacking really did to your flesh.

            “Our privileged recipient today is votre capitaine.”

            _No!_

            The lights in the torture chamber suddenly dazzled. Lucas could see through his wall, but it was smoky and translucent, which meant it was also probably soundproof.

            The insane French devil and his two _Incredible Hulk_ -like goons stood off to the side so the staging area could be easily seen from every cell. The same wall he’d been strapped to now held the unmistakable figure of Captain Bridger. His uniform jumper had been pulled over his shoulders and hung down at the waist, clamped under the restraint that forced him against the wall. His white undershirt was missing completely. While the skin color was close to Ford’s, the straight gray hair gave him away. The captain was shorter than Lucas, but the holes for his arms didn’t appear to be any further from his reach. There had to be something about this metallic stone the Frenchman could manipulate at will. The windows in the cells, the walls which separated the cells from the torture chamber, and the holes in this wall seemed to be somehow pliable at the molecular level. Or maybe the lunatic just had multiple whipping-walls in various sizes.

            His two seconds of musing about the metallic stone were quickly overshadowed by the sinking feeling in his stomach when realization hit him full force what was about to happen.

            How old was the captain? Sure, he was in great shape, even for someone ten years his junior. He could out-swim practically everyone onboard _seaQuest_ , including Lucas. But could anyone his age survive the trauma Hans and Frans were about to inflict on his poor back? And if they beat him to death in front of the whole bridge crew, would any of them ever get past it?

            Actually, Lucas wasn’t really that worried about the whole crew. Sure, they all had enormous respect for Bridger and his death would be a serious blow, but Lucas was the one who’d be devastated beyond comprehension if the worst happened. Was there anything anyone could say or do that would stop this nightmare?

            Lucas shook his head over and over, whispering desperately, “No, no, _please_ no.”


	8. Chapter 8

            Nathan Bridger stood as still as he could, even when his paralyzer wore off. He felt apprehensive, but he pushed the fear out of his mind. If Lucas’s whipping was any indication, the whole bridge crew would be watching and he was deter­mined to set a good example. He could feel twinges of shaking in his back and arms, but he inhaled deeply and tried to will it away. Cold, shaking fingers touched his hands.

            “Doctor?”

            “Yes, Captain,” she whimpered weakly.

            He’d sworn he wouldn’t speak to that bastard Frenchman unless he had a reasonable expectation it would do any good. He was tired of playing this game by his rules. Wendy’s trembling voice broke his resolve. _Calm. Just stay calm_. He turned his head toward where he’d heard their captor talking to his lackeys in French. Nathan schooled his face to a stoic expression. “Does Dr. Smith have to be here?”

            “Yes,” the Frenchman answered. A sly lilt entered his voice. “But she does not ’ave to ’old your ’ands.”

            “Let go, Wendy,” he said firmly. “That’s an order.”

            She squeezed his hands tight. “Nathan, _please_ ,” she whimpered, “you don’t understand. He’s drugged me. I can’t block you right now whether you hold my hands or not. I’m sorry for invading your thoughts, but I have no control. Letting go won’t help. Please believe me. I _need_ your hands as much as you need mine. And you _do_ need me.”

            _If you can read my thoughts, say that you’re cold._

“I’m so cold,” she whimpered.

            “I’ll hold her hands,” Nathan announced in an even tone. He knew this gave the Frenchman a victory, but if it was important to Wendy, he didn’t care. Be­sides, if she could read his mind, that meant he could talk to her without the madman or his brutes hearing. And _that_ was worth something.

            _Can you feel Lucas?_

            “Yes. He’s terrified you won’t survive this.”

            The Frenchman returned his attention to his thugs. That and the fact Wendy’s whisper was barely audible to Nathan, led him to believe no one else could hear her.

            _Is he okay?_

            “As well as can be expected. His back hurts to be strapped down in that seat, but he’s so consumed with worry that he’s hardly noticing. He was worried about you even in the middle of his own beating.”

            _Why was he worried then? I wasn’t in any danger._

“Because he’s always seen you as in control and confident. But that day, you were helpless and frustrated.”

            _Doesn’t look like I’m doing any better today._

            “No. Just about everyone is impressed with how brave you look.”

            He scoffed lightly. _It’s an act._

The Frenchman interrupted their private conversation _._ “I must agree, _Capitaine_ , very brave indeed.” The bastard was close now. Nathan could feel his breath on his bare shoulder.

            _He just wants to get a rise out of me._

            Wendy squeezed his hand once. He’d spent enough time in Medbay to know that was her unspoken signal for yes.

            The Frenchman clicked his tongue and ran his hand through Nathan’s hair. “But so quiet. ’Ave you nothing to say at all?”

            This was what the captain had been waiting for. He raised his voice. “Who _are_ you and what do you want with us?”

            “My name would ’ave no meaning to you. As for what I want? I want you to be my guests—to be my players in le théâtre de la souffrance.” He backed away from Nathan’s shoulder and encompassed the entire room with a sweeping gesture. The last phrase was so heavily accented that Nathan only caught the end word, “France”, which gave him no new information at all.

            “Tim says that means ‘theater of suffering,’” Wendy whispered.

            He accepted this as easily as if Tim had been on the bridge and doing a routine translation. But then it struck him how different this was. _O’Neill’s a Transmitter! Can he get a message out?_

            “I don’t know if he’s tried. I can’t hear or feel anyone when I’m in my cell. The drugs—the Frenchman takes away all my empathic senses except when he’s about to torture someone, then he makes it impossible for me to resist.”

            Nathan felt badly she had to feel everyone else’s suffering, but he couldn’t really muster much sympathy for her otherwise. It just meant she was like everyone else.

            “Yeah, well, just imagine if _you_ lost one of the senses _you’ve_ always relied on, like sight or hearing,” she whispered darkly.

            _Sorry. I forgot you could read my thoughts._

“You know Tim can’t hear me without a psychic relay. Mary hasn’t been born yet.”

_If he has a turn at this wall, tell him I asked him to try. Maybe someone else out there has the same abilities as Mary. Tell him to Transmit in every lan­guage he knows._

            One squeeze. They were both distracted by the Frenchman directing his minions to make an ostentatious show of the cat-o-nines. Nathan felt a lot less intimidated than when they’d planned to use them on Lucas. They didn’t look so menacing up close as his imagination had made them out at a distance.

            “Looks are deceiving,” Wendy warned in a whisper.

            He drew a deep breath. It wasn’t going to be easy. He knew that. But he really wished this barbarian would just get on with it. _Don’t think about what’s coming. We have too much to talk about and not enough time. What do you get from the Frenchman?_

She gasped suddenly.

            _Wendy?_

            “The walls,” she whispered. “The walls are gone again.”

            Nathan couldn’t see the full circle of cells behind him, but he could see Ortiz pretty clearly on one side and Brody on the other. He wanted to call out to his crew, but he forced himself to wait. _Make the Frenchman come to me. Don’t give him the satisfaction of thinking I play into his hand_.

            “Captain!” someone called. Maybe more than one.

            “He’s our captain,” Commander Ford said. “And he’s too old for this.”

            Wendy whispered quickly between his sentences. “Jonathan hopes you don’t believe what he’s saying.”

            _I know. He’s trying to protect me. But if this madman wouldn’t allow anyone to protect Lucas, what other outcome can any of the rest of us expect? It’s futile._

            “You said you wanted us all as your guests,” Ford continued. “If you kill him, you lose your _player_.”

            Several voices added assent to Ford’s line of reasoning.

            “Let us take the heat for him and you’ll hurt him worse,” Brody called out.

            _Leave it to Brody to state the obvious._ Still, Nathan couldn’t help but feel pride in what they were attempting. He really didn’t want it to work though. Brody was right. He’d hurt more to watch someone else take his place.

            “Stop it! This is stupid!” Lucas yelled.

            Nathan’s heart skipped a beat. _Watch it, kiddo._

“Why should anyone have to take a beating at all? We haven’t done anything. We don’t have anything you want. Let us go.”

            _Sounds like the same old Lucas_ , Nathan thought fondly. _He’s really going to be okay after all._

“Ah, Monsieur Wolenczak, but you ’ave already ’ad your welcome. We mustn’t be stingy, now.”

            _Stingy? What, does he think a beating is some kind of gift?_

“In his own twisted way, yes.” Wendy’s voice was strained, like it was just this edge of groaning.

            _Can we reason with him?_

            She didn’t answer right away. Nathan grew irritated. These hulks were itch­ing to beat the living daylights out of him at any second and she was taking her sweet time answering a simple question.

            “No,” she whispered. “He’s completely insane.”

            _Thank you, Doctor._ He placed his irritation in check. She was trying to do everything he asked under difficult circumstances. It couldn’t be easy to read the mind of a psychopath. __

Finally, his crew had exhausted all their attempts at stalling, avoiding, and trading places. They seemed to be concentrating on getting free of their bonds. The chatter had dissolved into grunts and gasps of desperation. Nathan needed to say something before the beating started. Should he take a chance the Frenchman wouldn’t care about his silence? Every fiber wanted to just blurt it out.

            “He’s annoyed you’re being so quiet,” Wendy whispered.

            _Good._ He breathed a tiny sigh of relief. _Make him come to me._

            “Do you really think you’re in any position to annoy this madman?”

            _Does there look like any better ‘position’ is on the horizon?_

            A short silence and then a suppressed sob escaped. “No,” she whimpered.

            “Any final words, Monsieur Capitaine?”

            _YES!_ He wasn’t buying the Frenchman’s ominous act. He wasn’t trying to kill; he was trying to intimidate and frighten. Nathan didn’t want to think about how much this was going to cost him in blood and pain, but at least he’d won _something_.

            “May I speak to my officers?” He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if the madman said no. But instinct told him to be patient, to use the man’s annoyance and curiosity against him. To subtly trick the lunatic into thinking he was becoming passive and compliant.

            “They are all here.” The Frenchman spoke like Nathan was a child or an idiot.

            Although the room had suddenly become silent, the captain raised his voice to a commanding volume. He would exude absolute calm and professionalism. “Executive Order Barracuda. Confirm.”

            Commander Ford matched his tone. “Barracuda confirmed, sir. It has been an honor serving with you, Captain.”

            _Nice touch, Jonathan._ He couldn’t help but smile.

            “Barracuda, aye.” Brody kept it short and sweet.

            “Executive Order Barracuda confirmed, Captain,” O’Neill said in his best diplomatic voice.

            He wondered how the others were going to react to the secrecy. He could prevent questions with a simple order, but he decided not to. Yet no one even whispered. He hadn’t really expected total silence, but it felt good in his gut and he knew it would annoy their captor. Even Lucas, bless him, had taken his cue from the rest and held his brazen teenage tongue.

            “That’s it?” The Frenchman truly sounded incredulous.

            To answer or not to answer…? He paused a long while, savoring his tiny victory. “Yes.”

            The madman stepped in close, ran two cold fingers slowly over Nathan’s bare back, and leaned in to speak in a hushed voice. “Care to tell me what Executive Order Barracuda _is_?”

            “No.” Nathan was matter-of-fact, even smug.

            “I can double your lashes.”

            “You can kill me...” He paused. “But then I win, don’t I?” _Wendy, don’t say anything; he’s standing too close. I know I’ve hit a nerve_. Nathan braced himself for the backlash.

            Seconds ticked by. Or was it minutes? Finally, the Frenchman laughed, cold and mirthless. “Let us back up our threats a bit, shall we? You ’ave something I want. I am sure I ’ave something of equal value to you.”

            “Let us all go.”

            He grabbed Nathan’s hair and yanked his head backwards as far as it would go without breaking his neck.

            Wendy and some of the onlookers gasped, but Nathan kept his shock concealed.

            “If I let you all go, _your_ information would be worthless.”

            “Release everyone but me and my three officers then.”

            “That’s more than ’alf my stock! _Non_.”

            _Stock? Wendy, probe his mind about that and report later_. She gave a single squeeze in response. It was useful to be able to communicate with her right under the madman’s nose. He had one last-ditch hope. “Release Wolenczak then. He’s just a kid and you’ve already had your _fun_ with him.”

            “Why the boy? What is he to you?”

            Oh brother, were they back to petty pretending? “He’s a civilian. I already told you I’m responsible for him.”

            “Tell me what Executive Order Barracuda is, and he’s excused from watching your flogging.”

            Nathan thought about it for a long minute. Not as much as he’d hoped to get, but still better than nothing.

            “Don’t do it, Captain!” Lucas shouted.

            Something clicked in the floor and suddenly the platform spun around, wall and all. It stopped when Nathan faced directly into Lucas’s cell. The kid was strapped to his chair, shaking his head. His eyes were terrified, but his jaw was set in defiance.

            “If you don’t want me to watch, I’ll close my eyes,” Lucas promised. “Don’t give this bastard anything.”

            “Yes, but can he close his _ears_ as well?” The Frenchman held up what appeared to be a remote control. “One press of a button and the young man sees and ’ears nothing to fill ’is nightmares.”

            _Like **you** haven’t **already** given him enough fodder for nightmares?_ However, it was unlikely to get any better. Nathan drew a deep breath. “Deal.”

            The madman pressed a button and a solid wall materialized before their eyes. Lucas screamed, “No!” but his voice was cut off mid-scream.

            Ford had suggested an idea and it was too good not to take advantage of. Nathan tried to sound reluctant and defeated as he rattled off his end of the bargain. “Executive Order Barracuda is the total dissolution of the military chain of command. I just resigned and fired all my officers. It’s every man for himself now.”

            “Hmm.” The Frenchman considered. “How interesting. _Vraiment_.” The rolling platform jerked around and locked back in place where it had been just minutes ago, at the center staging area. The Frenchman wasted no more time, but yelled, “Commence!” as soon as he got out of the way.

            The first cruel stroke impacted. Nathan gasped and his body thrashed uncontrollably. Wendy squeezed his hands and the pain somehow _diffused_. It wasn’t any less intense, just somehow spread over a larger area—an area somehow larger than his physical body. Though pain consumed his whole consciousness, all he could think about was the madman being far enough away for Wendy to talk to him again, if only she could get around the pain enough to speak.

            “If you can form sentences during this, then I can too,” she whispered in a strained voice.

            The lashes kept landing and the pain was excruciating, but he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to confer, no matter how much he hurt. _Did he… believe me?_

“Yes,” she grunted. “But he lied too. That wall isn’t…” Another gasp. “…solid, it’s like a one-way mirror.” Her voice became ragged. “The sound… speakers in Lucas’s cell.”

            _Damn. Well, at least…_ He cried out loudly, and though he hated giving that much voice to his suffering, it couldn’t be helped _._ More than that, it was annoying to have his conversation interrupted. _…at least we know we can’t trust his word._

“Lucas…” Wendy moaned. “…closing his eyes, but… tearing him apart… hearing the cracking.”

            _I tried,_ Nathan thought miserably.

            “He’s strong.” Her whisper gained a little strength, since he’d had so many lashes now the pain had peaked, at least he hoped so. “He’ll get through this.”

            Nathan didn’t have the luxury of time to think about Lucas now. He forced his thoughts through like he was pushing them forcefully out of his mind. _The Frenchman… What do you know about him and why does he think of us as ‘stock’?_

“His mind… warped and twisted… hard to separate truth from delusions. Doctorates in multiple sciences. Hounded over ethics. Imprisoned and escaped several times.” She paused for a deep breath, but she sensed his intense desire to learn about the madman as fast as he could and pushed forward with the informa­tion she had. “Used many aliases… can’t tell his real identity. Obsessed with Marquis de Sade. Might _be_ the Marquis himself.”

            _Explain._

“Met the man… not in this time. Not sure if forward or back.”

            _Doesn’t matter. Go on._ He hated forcing her to speak at a time like this, but she knew as well as he did there probably wasn’t going to be any better chance. __

“Lived with him… used his identity.” She coughed and groaned, then returned to raspy whispering. “What history records as Sade’s ideas… and actions may not have been all his.”

            _Great. We’re prisoners of the man who is the very definition of sadistic._

            “Sometimes he thinks of us… actors in a play, sometimes test… subjects for science experiments.” Her groaning was becoming deeper. “And sometimes animals.”

            _Animals?_ “Aaaah!” They both ignored the outburst. _Like dogs and cats?_

            “More like race horses. Stock. Nathan…” She hesitated but didn’t groan or whimper. While the lashes hadn’t yet stopped, the pain had remained fairly constant. He didn’t think anything physical was giving her pause. “He’s planning to _breed_ us.”

            Nathan didn’t form any coherent sentences for a few seconds, but he did reflect on the depths of his own disgust and strengthened his resolve to get them all out of there long before this madman had a chance to implement his evil plans. His back had been hit at least five more times before he mindspoke again. _What would he want with infants?_

            “Accelerated growth technology. Lonnie and I… incubators. He can age babies… sixteen years in six months.”

            More kids just like Lucas and members of his crew forced to watch their children tortured. Nathan was so appalled he couldn’t form the words to ask her to stop discussing it. Fortunately, she read his thoughts well enough to drop it.

            A sigh escaped. “Think Hans and Frans… done.”

            _Hans and Frans?_

            She inhaled deeply. Though her voice was still a shaky whisper, she could waste a little breath on phrasing again. “That’s what Lucas calls the big brutes with the whips.”

            He wondered why he found their names humorous—probably just the rhyme and the fact Lucas had bothered to attach any appellation to them besides ‘demonic torturers’. Then it registered what she’d meant when she said ‘done’. The beating had stopped. His back was throbbing like a bitch, but he’d had such a good exchange he felt it almost worth the price.

            Hans and Frans were putting the bloody floggers away. The insane French­man was blathering on about their ‘performance’. It wouldn’t be long before they’d be separated and dragged off to solitary cells. Buoyed by the welcome reality his beating was finally over, his mind spilled instructions in a torrent. _Tell all the non-coms and enlisteds that they’re to take whatever actions necessary to survive whether within UEO regulations or not. No heroics. No provocations. It’s the responsibility of the officers to take the risks. It’s their responsibility to stay as safe as they can. Please relay my personal apology._

Wendy matched his urgency. “I will, Nathan. No one blames you.”

            His conscience was clear. They’d landed in this hellhole without him issuing a single order he would have changed. Still, anything that happened on his boat was his responsibility and he felt badly whether he could have prevented it or not.

            A hypospray hissed on the other side of the wall. Nathan felt large, rough hands prying his fingers open to remove the doctor’s delicate fingers from his grasp. She’d been right about him needing the contact, and it was more than just making it easier to mindspeak. The breaking of their connection filled him with an indefinable sense of loss and he suddenly felt very drained. He didn’t think he could crawl away on his own strength even if he’d been free of all restraints. The simple act of breathing flexed the muscles in his back. Damn, but the pain was so intense. _So very, very…_ Darkness closed in around him and he melted into oblivion.


	9. Chapter 9

            Nathan awoke in his cell with Henderson standing next to his bed platform, whispering in a worried voice while brushing his forehead gently. “Captain Bridger? Sir? Are you okay?”

            “Not one of my better days,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t even rally appreciation for being allowed time with a member of his crew.

            “There’s stuff here to wash your wounds. It seemed to help stop the bleeding on Lucas, but it stings pretty bad. Is it all right if I use it on you?”

            He perked up at the mention of the teen. “He let you talk to Lucas?”

            “Yes, sir. Right after his beating. Looks like I’m the designated clean-up gal.” She lowered her voice and used a warning tone. “We can’t talk about the prison defenses or escape. _He_ ’s probably listening.” She swished a washcloth around in the solution, squeezed it out, and then waited for him to give some sign she could touch him.

            The captain nodded to her unspoken request, choosing not to waste breath on anything except the most important.

            She dabbed the rough terrycloth on his back and he gasped and jerked under her touch. “Sorry.”

            “It’s all right,” he said with as much encouragement as he could muster. It didn’t _feel_ all right at all. It burned like fire. But it was probably not a good idea to forego this. Pain certainly wasn’t _her_ fault. “How is Lucas?”

            “Um, Lucas is doing okay. He joked about how the scars will get him more attention with the ladies.”

            Nathan half-chuckled, but quickly regretted it. He groaned.

            “He spent most of the time trying to cheer _me_ up.”

            “Did his back look any better than mine?”

            “It was dark. We had a little oil lamp, but I couldn’t see very well.”

            She wouldn’t lie to him, but she wasn’t going to say anything that would make him worry if she could help it. He cringed and gritted his teeth while she spread that acidic venom over his wounds.

            “Do you have any orders, sir?”

            He couldn’t help but feel proud of what a good soldier she was proving to be. But he still couldn’t tell her the truth about Executive Order Barracuda because she was probably right about being watched. He sighed. “I’m not the captain anymore, Lonnie.”

            “If you say so, sir. Then what _advice_ would you give… as a respected _father figure_ , sir?” She used ‘sir’ a bit too much for coincidence. She was telling him she still considered him her captain whether he liked it or not. He had to admit, at least in the privacy of his thoughts, he liked it.

            “I’d say do whatever you have to do to protect yourself. If that means groveling before a madman, then do it. And if you get a chance to escape, take it. Don’t wait for anyone else and don’t come back without armed escort. Get to the _seaQuest_ if you can, but whatever you do, don’t risk your own life or safety. Like I said, it’s every man for himself.”

            “In case you haven’t noticed, sir, I’m not a man.” There was something like a smirk in her voice. She was probably smiling but he didn’t have the strength to turn his head to look.

            _Yeah, I’ve noticed, but I’m trying not to think about it right now_. He shud­dered to remember how Wendy had said ‘he plans to _breed_ us _.’_ “Every sailor for him- or herself, then,” he amended.

            “If I can’t find the _seaQuest_ , I’ll raise an army myself.”

            She probably would too. He admired her spunk. Just then, an idea hit him. If that madman had stepped into historical identities, so could they. Would the juxtaposition infuriate their captor or—dare he hope?—endear her to him? “We don’t know what year this is, but for all we know, _you_ could be Joan of Arc.”

            She laughed. “I’m not real good with history, sir, but I’m pretty sure she spoke French.”

            Since he hadn’t brought this name up for her sake, it didn’t matter how illogical she found it. Maybe she could catch-on to his real purpose. “She was about your age, Henderson, and she reported divine visions. You could very well be given the ability to speak French by an act of God.” It sounded rather silly once he’d said it out loud, but how else could he fight a madman but with more madness?

            “Anything’s possible.” She even sounded like she believed it herself.

            “Have you ever considered the officer’s program?”

            “Actually, I’ve been working on it.”

            “Have you? Some captain will be getting a fine officer, then.” Even without trying to deceive this mad Frenchman about his present status, Nathan didn’t think he was going to make it out of this alive.

            “Thank you, sir. I can only hope _that captain_ is as worthy of fine officers as you have been.”

            _And she somehow managed to turn it into a compliment without breaking the pretense_. He wished he could salute or smile or something, but he couldn’t even lift his head.

            The speaker crackled. “Less prattling and more disinfecting, Made­moi­selle.”

            She looked up at the ceiling and apologized so contritely it made Nathan sick, but then he noticed her free hand hidden between the bed platform and her body, flying the bird where only he could see. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to laugh, but it would be dangerously suspicious, not to mention painful, so he held it in check.

            Lonnie rinsed the cloth again. He could see her shadow, shaking its head.

            “How does it look?” he ventured.

            “Bad,” she said. She pressed the cloth to his tortured back again.

            “Can’t fault your honesty,” he said between gritted teeth.

            “I think the bleeding has stopped for the most part. I hope whatever medication is in this, it’s strong.”

            “It probably is, or he wouldn’t begrudge me this visit.”

            “But I’m the last person you’d want to see.”

            Yes, he’d rather have seen Lucas, no use denying that. There wouldn’t have been much point to seeing Ford either, not when they were being watched like this. Wendy would have been high on his list, but he’d already had a “nice” little conference with her today and there was no way that sadist would allow a _doctor_ attend to him while he was in dire medical straits. That would have been too humane to hope for. Henderson was far from being the lastperson he wanted to see, but he was afraid to admit it lest he reveal something the Frenchman would use against him. “Oh yeah. I’m sure _Brody_ would have been the perfect nurse,” he said with a healthy dose of irony.

            She chuckled lightly and he found the sound comforting. If it was the last thing he ever did, he _had_ to get Lonnie, Lucas, and Wendy out of here.


	10. Chapter 10

 

            Seaman Anthony Piccolo paced his cabin. It was too quiet without Lucas there. All of _seaQuest_ was too empty these days. How long had it been since the entire bridge crew disappeared? Three days? Four? Master Chief Chuck Kendall, from engineering, had reviewed the bridge security discs about a hundred times. Tony asked to help and Kendall let him, probably since he was one of the few left on board who had some bridge experience.

            The discs showed the bridge personnel talking about a Mobius Hole and the _seaQuest_ being in the Black Sea. Some eerie French dude got on the loudspeak­ers and told Dr. Smith she was wrong about no one knowing they were there. Then, inexplicably, everybody passed out. Two guys about the size of Dagwood showed up out of nowhere and hauled the unconscious people out, each of them carrying two bodies at a time. They appeared to dump them in the mag-lev, but there were no security cameras inside the mag-lev to confirm this. Once the bridge was cleared, the two big guys got in the mag-lev themselves. The doors shut, and then they just disappeared.

            Every single security record of every deck, corridor, lab, and launch bay had been reviewed dozens of times. There was no footage of them leaving the mag-lev, no sign they appeared anywhere else, and no trace of the bridge crew or their kidnappers anywhere. Kendall even asked the science staff for help, but so far, no one had a guess what had happened to their command crew.

            Some dipstick from Osmotic Filtration had suggested they try to find the Mobius Hole and take _seaQuest_ back to their own time to find help. Tony thought that was stupid and cowardly. The last time they hitched a ride through that whirlpool thingy after Lucas dismantled the computer of his dreams, the thingy just vanished forever…well, forever until four days ago.

            Everyone, including the science nerds, had tried to get the radio and vid-link working, but since O’Neill said on the discs that everything was dead, it wasn’t too surprising that no one else could make it work.

            People were starting to get restless and arguing about what to do next. Since Captain Bridger hadn’t verbally given command to anyone, someone was going to have to assume it. Even though Chief Kendall was the highest ranking guy left (the bridge relief crew had been on shore leave when they hit the Mobius Hole), he would just create more problems trying to take over if he didn’t have the support of the majority. So he called a general meeting on the bridge for nineteen hundred hours. All Navy personnel were required to attend and everyone else on board had been invited.

            Tony hoped Kendall would be successful at gaining everyone’s support. At least he seemed to care about the missing crew and wanted to try to find them. He shuddered to think what would happen if one of those let’s-just-go-back idiots talked the rest of the boat into giving command to someone else. Tony didn’t like to get involved in Navy politics, but he felt pretty strongly about it this time.

            Captain Bridger had given him a second chance when his first act after coming aboard had been attempted desertion and all he deserved was the brig. Commander Ford had come back for him when he’d tried to take on Eddie’s captors alone in that godforsaken jungle compound where he’d been a prisoner. Not only that, when everything was said and done, Commander Ford had said, “Good work, sailor.” Tony had just started to admit to himself he liked the feeling he’d had at that moment. He liked that look of pride in Ford’s eyes and he liked being regarded as something other than a total screw-up.

            So, no, he wasn’t going to just sit by and let anyone take over the _seaQuest_ and count the whole bridge crew as some lost cause. He was pretty sure there weren’t many others onboard like Ford and Bridger who had started to see past his swaggering, so it would probably be to Kendall’s advantage if he just kept his big mouth shut. However, if it came to it, he wasn’t above using that mouth of his to tell off anyone who started moving in the wrong direction. Tony took a quick ion shower and changed into a clean uniform for the meeting.

            From the look of things, everyone had come to Kendall’s assembly, including all the science nerds who didn’t have to be there. Dagwood stood in the back, keeping quiet and watching. Tony made his way through the crowd to where he didn’t have to stand behind anyone else. He was too short to see over anyone and this was too important to miss. Kendall nodded in greeting. _Wow, he noticed me._

The chief did a quick roll call to make sure all the Navy guys had followed orders. Everyone was there. He moved into the center of the crowd, where they’d left a space. He took a deep breath and spoke in a loud voice, “Captain Bridger has been missing for four days now. I think it’s time we established leadership so we can make plans for how to proceed. I’m an engineer. I never intended to command, but without recognition I’m in charge now, we have too much whispering going on behind my back and too much petty quibbling. So if anyone else thinks he or she can do a better job than me, now’s the time to make your case.”

            Silence.

            “It’s speak now or forever hold your peace,” Kendall said warningly. “I will listen to your ideas and I value your input, but when I give an order, I want the same respect and follow-through you’d give the captain. Is everyone prepared to accept my command?”

            Almost as if cued, all the Navy personnel answered, “Aye, sir!”

            _That was a lot easier than I thought it was gonna be_ , Tony thought.

            “Thank you. Now we need to enter it into the computer and log it officially for the record. Piccolo, would you do the honors?”

            “Aye, aye.” Tony wiggled into the commander’s station and entered all the bridge crew plus Dr. Smith and Lucas as missing in action. As he got to Ford and Bridger, he felt a big lump in his throat. _This is just so we can organize to find you guys,_ he reminded himself as he completed the keystrokes.

            The computer would take this information and restructure command, then ask for confirmation. But when the next text screen appeared, Tony blinked hard. _Damned dyslexia_. Rather than repeat what he had to be reading incorrectly, he activated the automated computer voice to read it.

            “Ranking officer onboard _seaQuest_ is Ensign Darwin. Do you wish to confirm as Acting Captain?”

            _Whoa. It wasn’t dyslexia._ “You gotta be kiddin’ me. The dolphin’s in command?”

            Chief Kendall’s jaw dropped about a foot before he closed it and answered. “According to the computer. But only if we confirm it.”

            Whispers rose up over the whole bridge. Tony shook his head. He had wanted to do everything by the book when the outcome would put Kendall in charge, but this was ridiculous. A dolphin as captain? But if they threw military protocol out the window, then Kendall’s position wasn’t secure either. “So what d’we do, Chief?”

            “Well, we have the vocorder. Let’s ask Darwin whether he even wants com­mand. If he passes, then it goes to me automatically.”

            “And if he doesn’t pass?”

            Kendall just shook his head. Did anyone want to contemplate mutiny against a dolphin captain?

            Tony stood and wiggled through the crowd to the tank which connected to the rest of the boat by aquatubes. He retracted the cover, grabbed the vocorder, and spoke into it. “Hey, Darwin, can you come up to the bridge?”

            Someone in the crowd piped in, “Do we salute when he swims in?”

            People laughed but Tony found himself irritated. Okay, so making the dolphin captain was a bit on the ridiculous side, but they didn’t have to get snide about it. It certainly wasn’t Darwin’s fault some human had made him an ensign. At least _he_ wouldn’t give up on Lucas and Bridger. In fact, Tony was pretty sure Darwin was about the most altruistic leader they could hope for. He would never endanger anyone for selfish purposes or to placate politicians. The _seaQuest_ was his pod now and he treated all its inhabitants as family.

            Darwin arrived in the bridge tank and a hush fell over the crowd. The dolphin didn’t seem to notice all eyes on him. “Tony play?”

            “Maybe later, Darwin. I gotta ask you something. You know Bridger and Lucas and a lot of others are missing, right?”

            “Darwin find Bridger.”

            Tony frowned. Everyone had been so busy that no one had thought to send him out yet. “Yeah, we want you to help us find Bridger. But when the captain is gone, we have to have someone else in charge here.”

            “Ford is Bridger’s ‘right hand’. Ford lead _seaQuest_ when Bridger gone,” Darwin said.

            Wow, he knew more about military chain of command than Tony thought. The captain must talk to him more than he realized. “Commander Ford is missing too. So are Brody and Tim.” Darwin knew a few of the other missing crew, but it was a moot point since he outranked the rest of them anyhow.

            “Tony in charge of _seaQuest_?”

            This raised guffaws from the crowd. Even Tony chuckled. “No, not me. Do you understand ranks, Darwin? Do you understand why we have leaders, like the captain?”

            “Captain leads so pod stays safe.”

            Tony rolled his head around in contemplation, then glanced at Kendall. The master chief shrugged. “I’d say that was a pretty good definition.”

            Tony’s brows shot up. Was Kendall really as open to this crazy idea as he sounded? Tony turned back to the tank. “Darwin, do you understand what the Navy is?”

            “Navy gives fish for work on _seaQuest_.”

            “Food would be like pay to him,” one of the science nerds said. “He under­stands who pays the bills!”

            “Right, Darwin,” Tony said into the vocorder. “The Navy says who is in charge of _seaQuest_ when all the other leaders are gone.”

            The dolphin dipped his tail and waited. Tony looked up at Kendall. They could tell Darwin Kendall was in charge and he’d never question it. He trusted his human friends on _seaQuest_ implicitly.

            As if reading his mind, Kendall said, “I’m not lying to a dolphin, Piccolo. Tell him the truth.”

            Tony inhaled deeply. “Darwin, the Navy says _you_ are in charge of _seaQuest_ now.” When there was no response, he added, “But only if you want to be. Chief Kendall will be in charge if you don’t want to be.”

            “Kendall be Darwin’s right hand?”

            One of the science nerds gasped in awe. “Wow, I think he just named you his XO.”

            “He really does understand, doesn’t he?” someone else said.

            Tony wasn’t that smart, but it looked like all these smart people actually believed a dolphin could be a submarine captain. He knew Darwin a lot better than anyone still left on board. If the others who didn’t know him could accept him, then maybe he should too.

            Kendall addressed the crowd. “According to UEO regulations, Ensign Darwin is Acting Captain of the _seaQuest_. I’m willing to give it a chance as long as everyone else is in agreement. If you’ve got a problem with this, now’s the time to say so.”

            “Yeah, I got a problem. I’m not taking orders from a fish.”

            Tony didn’t see who made the comment, but it sounded like Seaman Brenton.

            “Darwin’s not a fish. He’s a mammal,” Dagwood recited.

            Tony cringed. Dagwood wasn’t exactly the best advocate. Maybe the nerds would help the poor GELF out.

            “So are rats, but that doesn’t mean they’re fit to command,” Brenton said snidely. He was just short of earning a knuckle sandwich for his tone with Dagwood, but Tony clenched his fists and held his temper in check.

            “Brown rats have metacognition,” one of the science geeks piped in. “They know how to learn and use strategies.”

            “Is that supposed to make me wanna salute one?”

            “No,” one of the older chief petty officers said while elbowing Brenton in the ribs, “it’s supposed to make you realize humans don’t have an exclusive on intelligence. How can you possibly be unaware of this after living with Darwin this whole tour?”

            “What’s your real beef, Seaman?” Kendall asked. “Is it his intelligence or something else? The fact he doesn’t wear pants or make crude jokes, maybe?”

            A gasp sprung up at the dig. Very few who worked with Brenton were unaware of his proclivity toward smutty humor, but since he wasn’t stationed in the engine room, it was surprising Kendall knew.

            Brenton folded his arms over his chest. “You asked if anybody had a problem with this and I said I did. No need to get all personal.”

            “Do you have a problem taking orders from _me_?” Kendall asked.

            “No,” he said in a small voice.

            “Then what if you just consider me the captain and Darwin my advisor?”

            “I guess that would be okay,” he muttered.

            “Look, we all know what Darwin means to Captain Bridger. He’s proven his loyalty to _seaQuest_ many times over. He’s been Navy trained and I’m satisfied he understands well enough what a captain does. For anyone who objects, you can consider me the _de facto_ C.O., but I’d like to do this by the book in the computer and for the record. I propose we confirm Darwin as Acting Captain. I will be his Executive Officer and liaison to the crew. The question is, will everyone accept this? The whole point of deciding on an acting captain was to restore military order and move forward. Everyone got that?”

            Heads nodded and a few yessir’s were whispered anonymously.

            Tony shook his head in disbelief, but then he leaned over and rubbed his new captain on the melon. “Looks like you’re our captain then, Darwin. What do you want us to do?”

            “Find Bridger. Find Lucas. Find Ford. Find—”

            “Okay, okay. I think we get the idea. We’re just human, ya know.”

            “Sounds pretty clear to me,” Kendall said. “Well, people, you heard the captain. Our orders are to find the missing crew. I say we all get busy. Dismissed.”


	11. Chapter 11

            After her fourth time behind the whipping wall, Wendy was emotionally and mentally exhausted. Following the captain’s beating, the Frenchman had decided to take everyone else in descending order of rank. Lucas had only gone first because he’d taken EEG readings on everyone while he read off his ‘guest list’. Since the crew felt so protective of the young computer whiz, naturally, he caught the madman’s interest. Lucas had also done something to provoke him, but Wendy hadn’t had time or strength to probe deeper about it while dealing with all the other matters thrust upon her.

            Lucas, Jonathan, and Jim probably would have survived their beatings without her help. They’d have felt more pain, lost more blood, and probably taken longer to heal, but they were young and strong. The captain had been another matter. And yet, when she was working her absolute hardest to isolate the proper blood vessels and divert circulation to minimize Nathan’s blood loss and keep his nervous system from crashing, he kept pushing her to probe that Frenchman’s insane mind and hold a briefing right in the middle of a brutal flogging.

            She came close to telling him she couldn’t continue the briefing, but his utter selflessness spurred her forward. Wendy was embarrassed to have discovered the depths of his devotion to his crew, something she’d surmised before, but some­how underestimated. Now, due to the drugs the madman kept pumping into her during his torture sessions, she was learning all kinds of secrets, many she would rather not know.

            Jonathan was attracted to Lonnie, but couldn’t do anything about it because she was enlisted and he was a commander. Jim had recently become close to a girl back home and was considering asking for a transfer in order to spend more time with her. She’d always known Lucas held a certain fondness for the captain, but she’d never guessed his feelings ran as deep as they did. Then there was the huge cascade of fear, anger, and frustration literally gushing from all the forced spectators whenever the cell walls became translucent or disappeared.

            It was almost a blessing Wendy had been deprived of her empathic senses when the torture sessions ended, since she had so little emotional energy left and needed time to recover before the next onslaught. However, she could have drawn comfort from being able to feel her friends when they were relieved (something she’d felt for just a few seconds when everyone realized Lucas survived) or when they weren’t so overwhelmingly powerless. She had yet to be strapped in a chair or to the dangerous side of that whipping wall, but she’d felt everyone else’s distress. Never being able to sense what horrible acts might be occurring while she rested played havoc with her imagination.

            Assuming no one provoked the Frenchman into changing his plans, Tim was likely next for his ‘welcome’. Tim’s psychic Transmissions were nearly impossible to block _without_ drugs. How much worse would it be when that sadist stripped all her defenses? Wendy worried his Transmitting power might conduct more pain than she would be able to stand while trying to constrict his veins and arteries. If she couldn’t concentrate on the physiological properties she needed to influence, the effects of his beating would be more harmful than any­one else’s. To make matters worse, Tim hadn’t yet fully recovered from all the recent injuries he suffered in the _Fifi_ incident. Yes, he was fit for duty, but that was a far cry from being fit to endure torture.

            Anxiety, added to her emotional exhaustion, made for poor coping while the minutes slipped away. She had no way to measure the time, since her watch, PAL, and the medical instruments she’d had in her lab coat pocket had all been re­moved before she awoke in this awful place. She wasn’t even sure the Frenchman conducted his beatings at a prescribed time. She only knew his pattern had been three days between each session, and the passage of light and dark told her it had already been that long since Brody’s turn.

            She waited in silence on her stone bed, trying to coax her nerves to rest. She’d have a better chance at helping Tim through this if her faculties were at least half of normal. It would be an exaggeration to say she was anywhere close to that at the moment. Hate was not a productive emotion and she usually didn’t allow it into her consciousness, but her resistance was wearing thin with this madman.

            When she heard the hiss from the ventilation grate, she didn’t flinch, welcoming the blackout. At least she’d glean a little rest before the nightmare replayed.

            She awoke at her familiar station behind the restraining wall, her ankles locked tight. Ghostly arms hung limp through the holes in front of her. Tim was secured, but not yet conscious. Since the lights were on and she could feel the rest of the crew watching from their cells, she knew it wouldn’t be long.

            Lucas and Nathan were still hurting, but they were recovering steadily, at least where their physical wounds were concerned. Jonathan and Jim were both in tremendous pain, but both were using every ounce of resolve to keep from showing it. They just ground their teeth and held their tongues. Everyone’s fury had only grown, but they’d all heeded the captain’s example and halted the desperate attempts to insult or reason with their captor. That wasn’t to say they sat passively and watched, but they didn’t yell all at once or keep begging when it was obviously futile.

            Tim’s arms moved and she could feel his mind awakening. Wendy drew a deep breath and reached for his hands.

            _Doctor Smith?_

She’d forgotten how loud he could be.

“Sorry,”he said. __

_Did you hear me, Tim?_

            _Didn’t you just say how loud I was?_

_No, I **thought** it. You’re reading me!_

_Oh, sorry. I didn’t know I could do that. Maybe we shouldn’t hold hands._ He tried to let go _._

_No! I need to control the bleeding. Being able to communicate without whispering will save my breath. Go ahead and read me._

The Frenchman had started his opening remarks, but Tim was only barely paying any attention to what was happening behind him. He would have been able to answer if the man asked a question, but he’d somehow been able to focus most of his attention on her, almost to the exclusion of all else. In fact, he had compartmentalized his mind in such a way that she was having a hard time finding the pathway to his circulatory system.

_Doctor, you don’t feel so great. Are you sure I’m not harming you?_

_I-I can’t get around in your mind… how are you doing that? No one else was able to keep me out. I couldn’t even control it myself._

_You’re the parapsychologist. You tell me!_

She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated. _You’ve been working on your defenses. Your walls are all up and I can’t get through._

Hans and Frans were pulling their new cat-o-nines from the bucket of saltwater, making sure they did so within Tim’s line of sight. Tim only barely registered the image. If she didn’t know better, she’d guess he wasn’t afraid at all. He had to be blocking.

            _Walls? Like in my dream?_

_Yes, like that._

Suddenly, she felt her mind yanked out of her body the same way it did when she’d visited him in a dream, ages ago on _seaQuest_. A peaceful, deserted beach awaited and Tim stood on it with his hand outstretched to her, but she was outside of it, looking in. He’d only pulled her part of the way. She would have to choose to enter his mind. She reached out, took his hand, and stepped into the beach. _Did you just will yourself to sleep?_

He laughed. _Yeah, I think I’m going to **sleep** through a flogging._

            She couldn’t believe how cheerful he sounded. He was joking with her!

            He waved his hand toward an umbrella table where a screen the size of a computer monitor was set up. Playing on the screen was every sight, sound, and feeling he was experiencing in the torture chamber. Somehow, that part of his mind was detached from the place where they stood. She took a few steps closer and realized it wasn’t a player, but a recording device. He would later be able to remember what happened, but he was letting it run on auto-pilot now, so they could ignore it. Since they were communicating mind-to-mind faster than any normal mode of speech, it seemed like the reality playing on the screen was moving in extreme slow motion.

            Wendy’s dream-self swayed and teetered, an echo of her state of mind. Tim put his arm around her back to keep her from falling. _As I was saying, you don’t look so good._ He guided her to a chair and helped her into it.

            She sank gratefully into the chair and inhaled deeply _. I’m drained, Tim. This is the fifth beating I’ve had to endure and I don’t know if I can do it. If I don’t find the veins and arteries in your back and constrict them to divert the blood flow, you could die of hypovolemia_.

He looked at her with compassion, appearing truly more worried about her than for what his bare back was about to suffer. _Well, if it’s in my body, I should be able to help you find it, right? Just relax._

            When he said ‘relax,’ it was like a hypnotic suggestion. The tranquil setting and his calm demeanor put her at ease and she obeyed. It felt so wonderful to finally let go.

            His dream-image took her hand and she felt her dream-self being drawn away as if floating in a current. They passed straight through the solid diamond-plate wall which always hovered behind Tim’s back. While it was obvious the communications officer wasn’t nearly as familiar with anatomy and physiology as she was, he’d apparently read enough on the subject that she could decipher his crude conception well enough to figure out where they really were.

            _Crude?_ he said in a jesting tone. She could no longer see the beach or a dream-image of him, at least not his outer body. But she could hear his voice. _You’re supposed to be relaxing, not disparaging the tour guide._

            He didn’t seem like the Tim she knew at all.

            _That’s because **that** Tim is about to get the tar beat out of him_ , he said matter-of-factly _. Are we close?_

She saw everything through his perception and while she attempted to recon­cile it, he scanned her medical knowledge and then changed the scene around them to reflect a doctor’s more precise representation —everything from the location of muscles and organs to the microscopic histological cross-sections. She felt somewhat violated that he’d scanned her mind so deeply, but she had stepped willingly into his mind first. _Hey, it took me months to learn all that in medical school_ , she teased.

            He offered the only comparable compensation he had. _Ever want to learn German in five seconds?_

            _Not German—_

            _French_ , Tim either read or took an easy guess.

            She tried to access his knowledge the same way he’d grabbed hers, but again, his walls got in the way. He read her frustration and released the entire French lexicon with a single thought.

            While she was absorbing the language, he proved just how well he under­stood what she intended to do with his physiology by starting the preliminary isolations. _Can I try?_ he asked, sounding like a little boy wanting to ride a bike without training wheels.

            Wendy chuckled _. It’s_ **_your_** _back. Go ahead. Let me know if you need any help_.

            She watched as he did for himself what she had had to do for the others, re-routing the circulation and cutting off the blood flow to his back muscles. If she could teach all her patients this much, this fast, she’d soon be out of a job.

            _Ditto here_. Tim wasn’t enamored of the quick-learn concept. In fact, she felt anxiety at his very core. Being so exceptional with languages was a major part of his identity. The very idea anyone could instantly attain what he worked so hard at achieving was threatening to him.

            _This is a special circumstance, Tim. We only have this link because that Frenchman…_

_François Beauregard._

That was it! _How did you know? I couldn’t separate the real from all the aliases._

_I’ve talked to him a little more than everyone else, since it’s harder for him to ignore my rants in French. But what he told the captain is true. His name tells us nothing._

_How about ‘Marquis de Sade’?_ Before he could react or comment, they both heard the whistling of the cat-o-nine and its subsequent smack against his skin. Oddly, though, Wendy couldn’t feel the pain. _Did they miss?_

            Tim groaned. _Nope. They hit it, all right_.

            She realized then that he’d taken all the necessary steps to block her. He wasn’t even feeling the full force himself right now. At some point—and he probably couldn’t hold it off long—that ‘recording’ part of his mind would open a floodgate and the pain would surge into his consciousness.

            _I can show you how to ease the pain some._

_Not if it means you have to share it. You’re too exhausted right now._

            _I only shared pain with the others because of the drugs which force me into everyone else’s minds. You’re shielding me, so I should be safe. Here, let me show you._ She dumped what she knew about pain manage­ment into his mind the same way he’d shared all his knowledge of French.

            He absorbed it with a small sigh. _Not exactly a cure-all, is it?_

_I’m sorry. The damage they’re causing is very real and therefore the associated pain is too. If I could get you to Medbay back on **seaQuest** , I could do more about it, but all we can do with our minds is shove it aside for short periods or diffuse it a little, like I showed you._

_What do I owe you? Portuguese maybe?_ He was trying to be upbeat, but the weight of the beating was pressing his whole mind down hard.

            _Are you kidding? You’re protecting me from the excruciating pain of forty lashes. I feel guilty for accepting French!_

            _It may come in handy,_ he said weakly. __

Just then, Wendy felt something wrong in the torture chamber. Beauregard was looking at Tim’s back and he wasn’t happy.

_Tim! You’re doing **too good** a job with the bleeding! It’s making him mad. He thinks they’re being too easy on you._

Tim released some of the blood vessels and allowed more of the pain through so that he could react with more realistic agony. But it was too late. Beauregard barked orders to Hans and Frans to beat harder. They answered with enthusiasm, putting what had to be all their considerable strength into their crushing lunges.

            Tim screamed. The compartment where he’d pushed the pain aside had spilled over and he could feel much more now. Yet somehow, he still shielded Wendy.

            Lucas was the only spectator who understood the orders to Hans and Frans. After yelling a desperate rebuttal that was ignored, he explained to the rest of the crew what had been said. Most everyone could tell just by watching.

            Miguel took a turn pleading after Lucas, begging the Frenchman to rescind the order to go harder. Hearing Miguel’s voice was comforting to Tim; he appreciated his friend’s support. Wendy felt her panic rising, but Tim would sense her fears, so she quashed them. Then she recalled the message Nathan had told her to give him. She hadn’t yet shared it and now time was running out.

            _What?_ Tim asked weakly. It took so much mental energy to shield Wendy from pain that he had none to spare on scanning her beyond hearing her mind­speak. But wasn’t he too distracted now? Shouldn’t she just try to soothe and encourage him?

            _Just. Tell. Me._

            _The captain wanted me to ask if you’ve tried to Transmit since we’ve been here._

_Yes. But I assumed you could hear me._

_Forget me. We need to get a message outside. Nathan says to try every language you know, to try to find someone else like Mary._

            _What, does he think I wouldn’t try that on my own?_ He moaned outwardly while simultaneously stifling his inner frustration. _I found three people who would answer. One is an old woman in Tibet. Her entire tribe is convinced she’s crazy. If I talk to her again, she’d probably be stoned. Then there’s a young man in Egypt who thinks I’m a manifestation of Amon, god of the wind.._.

            No help there. Wendy couldn’t tell if he was pausing for physical reasons or if he had other motives. _And the third?_

_A ten-year-old girl in Spain. She tried to reach you for me, but of course, that didn’t work, because you were drugged. I don’t know what else to tell her. It’s not like she can visit the village vid-link and punch up the UEO. Travel would take weeks, maybe months, but even if she could get here, what would she be able to do?_

Nathan hadn’t covered what to tell him if he reached someone _. I don’t know, Tim. It’s not your fault._

 _How have you been able to take this four times already?_ he groaned. _What will Beauregard do if I pass out?_

He was still forming complete sentences and fairly complex questions. If Nathan had lasted while grunting short phrases, there was still hope for Tim, especially since he’d been able to hold back much of the pain until later. _Let’s hope it can’t get any worse_. _Back to Trans­mit­ting. You made contact with Darwin once before, didn’t you? Try that._

            His voice turned very weary as he reminded her again: _Darwin initiated that contact._ Despair crept in as he realized their best hope was a small marine mammal in the Black Sea, nearly 2000 kilometers away. Not only that, but he didn’t speak dolphin or have a vocorder. _I’ll try_ , he promised dejectedly.

            _Try Tony too. He heard you when you were panicking about Lucas in the Pacific._ She didn’t tell him Tony had been touching her at the time. She knew Tim was too weak now to sense her omission. And while trying to contact Tony might prove fruitless, it didn’t hurt anything to give Tim some hope.

            _Yes, Doctor._

            Damn. She recognized his mood. He’d reverted to military mode. It was one of the defense mechanisms he used when his body started shutting down. _Tim? How much energy are you using to block me from pain?_ She did a quick listen and heard someone count his thirty-eighth stroke. _It’s almost over. Go ahead and release your block._

            He obeyed her as if it had been an order. And although Wendy knew it was the right decision, the huge barrage of pain that hit her all at once almost knocked _her_ out. She gasped for breath and reeled backwards. He let go of her hands and she was too overcome to stop him. Since she wasn’t doing anything to help him with the bleeding, it wasn’t as critical as it might have been with anyone else. The last stroke landed and the beating stopped. However, the order to beat him harder had taken an awful toll.

            She saw his back through Beauregard’s eyes. He was immensely pleased, even giddy at the sight. But to her, it was sickening. Wendy grabbed Tim’s hands again so she wouldn’t be overheard. _Tim, you’ve got to stay conscious until someone comes to your cell with disinfectant. According to the others, it helps stop the bleeding. But you need to hold back the bleeding yourself until then. Do you hear me?_

_Yes, I think I can do that. I’ll be all right._

His words and his more relaxed tone were both a relief. Evidently, he’d gained strength by releasing that block. She let go of his hands so he wouldn’t have to have them pried open by the very monsters who ripped his flesh apart. Since she couldn’t avoid the impending hypospray, she accepted her fate rather than cower and let Beauregard enjoy the satisfaction of having forced it on her. Defiantly, she tilted her head to bare her neck, glaring daggers, but saying nothing. Just before her empathic senses were ripped from her, she scanned and found him quite annoyed. She echoed Nathan’s thoughts on that matter: _Good_.


	12. Chapter 12

            Tony found out there’d been a good reason Darwin hadn’t been allowed outside the boat to help look for his friends. Most of the water wasn’t salty enough for his skin. The salt water that came in from the Mediterranean stayed in the deepest parts of the Black Sea, below the depths that were safe for dolphins. Tony wasn’t any better off. The shallow brackish water made his gills swell up too much and the deep saltwater was anoxic and his gills were no good anyway. If Tony wanted to swim outside the boat, he’d have to do it just like everyone else, with SCUBA gear.

            For more than a week, _seaQuest_ had scoured the Black Sea. Kendall ordered all the WSKRS sent out to collect every bit of data they could. Between four WSKRS and all the instruments on _seaQuest_ herself, they scanned every acre of the sea floor, mapped out every current at every depth, and surveyed every inch of shoreline. They found species of fish they believed extinct. Every ship on the surface was powered only by sails or oars and none had metal hulls or modern designs. The science guys theorized the Mobius Hole had taken them into the past rather than the future.

            Quite a few of said geeks were chomping at the bit to get to land and figure out exactly what year it was, but Kendall didn’t think it was a good idea to be seen by the populace if they could avoid it. To keep them busy (and probably to shut them up), when the Navy guys finished with all their surveys, Kendall let the science geeks choose one of the shipwrecks they’d picked up on WSKRS to go explore. He gave them permission to leave the boat as long as it was in a shuttle, sea crab, or in SCUBA gear. No one would see them as long as they remained under the surface.

            None of their scans had picked up what Tony would call a lead on finding the missing bridge crew. Yes, they still had a lot of raw data to analyze, but what was data going to do? Tony tried to be positive when he reported to Darwin, but the dolphin was pretty perceptive, and seemed to sense Tony was depressed about the lack of leads. After watching Darwin swim in a slow circle, Tony changed into his wetsuit and crawled into the moon pool.

            Usually, Darwin perked up whenever anyone came in to swim with him, but he didn’t act like he noticed Tony there at all. The human tried to get his attention with a ball, but Darwin ignored it and kept swimming slowly in a circle. Tony swam a few laps, hoping Darwin would snap out of his mood and come play for a little while, but it didn’t work.

            “Okay, I get it. Not in the mood.” Tony headed to the edge of the moon pool and hoisted himself out. He shook his hair out and tilted his head to get the water out of his ears. He decided to go ask Kendall if they could load Darwin on a shuttle and take him through the Turkish Straits, so he could get out where the water was salty enough and he could get fresh air and sunshine. Darwin could order it himself, of course, but it was better not to give him the idea if there was some weird technical problem Tony didn’t know about. No use getting his hopes up for nothing.

            Tony hopped down from the edge of the tank and turned to leave. Just then, Darwin started clicking and chirping like crazy. The vocorder was on, but it took a few seconds to interpret. “Tim call help.”

            Tony spun around and grabbed the vocorder. “What’d you just say, buddy?”

            “Tim call help. Help Tim.”

            “How did Tim call for help?”

            Darwin didn’t answer.

            “Okay, d’ya know where he is, then?”

            “If.”

            “If what, Darwin?”

            “If Tim. If Bridger. If Lucas. If Miguel. If Wendy.”

            _Oh, great._ He’d gone all philosophical-dolphin on him. “Man, we gotta get you out of this tiny tank, buddy.”

            Darwin kept repeating the same thing over and over. “If Tim. If Bridger. If Lucas. If Miguel. If Wendy.”

             “I wish I knew what that means.” He rubbed him down a few more times, but Darwin didn’t change his tune. Finally, Tony sighed. “I gotta get changed. I’ll come see ya later.”

            “If Tim. If Bridger. If Lucas. If Miguel. If Wendy.” The vocorder didn’t stop its incessant repetition no matter how far away he got from the moon pool. Tony would bet Darwin was still saying it when he got behind a closed hatch and finally silenced the odd message.

 


	13. Chapter 13

            Lucas kept telling himself everything since the Mobius Hole was one big nightmare. Why, then, was sleeping so welcome? He didn’t hurt as much when he slept and he was free again in his dreams. Last night, he’d even seen Darwin. He couldn’t remember much about the dream, but he remembered seeing the dolphin and being happy… until he woke up to grim reality.

            His back still hurt more than he thought it should, having been at least two weeks since his beating. He’d been stuck in the same tiny cell, pacing or staring at the metallic stone walls, with no computers to keep him busy and no one to talk to. He knew he’d hear his friends’ voices and see some of their faces every three days, but he couldn’t bring himself to look forward to it because it meant someone else getting his back ripped apart.

            Once he’d heard the captain’s voice and knew he was all right, Lucas thought he could somehow shut down his sympathy and ignore the new beatings. He felt a bit guilty for his emotional numbness, but Com­mander Ford and Lieutenant Brody both acted so brave and strong that it was easy to imagine they didn’t suffer as much as he did. And it was easier to pretend he didn’t care anymore.

            Until it was Tim’s turn. Lucas couldn’t seem to get out of his head how recently Tim had been in the hospital with all those injuries from the plane accident, some of them a direct result of saving _him_. And while the communications officer appeared to be just as brave as Ford and Brody, Lucas didn’t think Tim’s pale, skinny back was built quite as sturdy as theirs. Lucas put himself in about the same category, physique-wise, so he felt Tim had a fair chance until about the tenth lash, when Scratchy Voice Guy inexplicably told Hans and Frans to beat him harder.

            Lucas had already discovered there were microphones near the whipping wall. They weren’t close enough to pick up Dr. Smith’s whispering, but if Tim had said anything the Frenchman could have heard over all the cracking whips and flesh-rending back smacks, then Lucas (and presumably everyone else) would have heard. But Tim had accepted his beating impassively, like the captain, without so much as a muttered French insult.

            No matter how much Lucas and Miguel objected and pleaded, the Frenchman wouldn’t rescind the order, or even explain why he’d given it. There was no rhyme or reason, no logic at all. Lucas never understood why bullies picked on smart guys with glasses, but that was the only explanation Lucas could come up with: geek-hating. If Tim was a geek, then he was just as much one himself, and yet there’d been no ‘throw all your weight into it’ order on Lucas’s turn. He’d even got two fewer lashes than everyone else, for supposedly being ‘amusing’.

            The horrible images hadn’t faded even after three days. Chills still coursed his spine and Lucas shuddered every time he thought about Tim’s beating. While he knew it was probably Miguel’s turn next and he didn’t relish seeing another friend beat to a pulp, at least it meant they’d get a chance to hear Tim’s voice and check up on him when the walls dissolved. So it was with a mixture of dread and hope that he waited in his cell for another torture session.

            He assumed Scratchy Voice was too busy with preparations right now to be watching very closely, so he decided this was a good time to try some tests on the metallic stone which made up the walls, floor, ceiling, bed, and chair. Lucas took his soup spoon, sat in the chair, and discreetly placed his hand between his leg and the chair’s arm. Very few camera angles would be able to see anything except him sitting on his hand. He scraped with the bowl end. It didn’t even scratch. He couldn’t get past the polished finish to create any friction. He continued scraping, but after five minutes, he stood and stretched to conceal his examination of the area. The finish was still as smooth as glass, without any mark.

            He held the spoon up to his eyes, frowning at it. _Whatever you’re made of, you’re no help_. The bowl had bent a little, so he pressed it down on the chair arm with his thumb to bend it back, and then he set it back on his tray. What he really wanted was a chemistry set, specifically, some acid. The food tray gave him an idea. He mentally reviewed the menu he’d eaten for the last week. The rations didn’t change much, so he knew he’d see it all again. But everything was extremely bland. No ketchup, vinegar dressings, or hot sauce he could ‘accidentally’ spill on the stone to assess etching or reactions. _How could I get some acid?_ He had no clue, but at least his mind had something to work on now.

            The hiss sounded in the ventilation grate. Lucas barely had time to get from standing to almost sitting before the lights went out. He knew it would be a dreamless sleep, but any form of sleep was preferable to the waking nightmare.

            He awoke in his chair, clamped, as expected, by his ankles and wrists, waiting in the absolute darkness of his now-windowless cell. The pain in his back was there, but it was dull enough it didn’t consume his whole consciousness any more. He took deep breaths and tried not to worry about Tim and Miguel. His promise to Lonnie replayed in his mind like a mantra, _We’re going to be okay_.

            Light flooded in from the central torture chamber. The cell wall was either dematerialized or invisible, which meant sounds would pass through. Lucas could tell from the skin color and hair it was indeed Miguel strapped to that cursed whipping wall. He wanted to say something encouraging, but no words came to mind. It was going to hurt like hell and nothing Lucas could possibly say would make it any easier to bear.

            Next, he glanced toward the cell Tim occupied, knowing he wouldn’t see Tim’s face because of the angle, but he could direct his voice better if he was facing it. Lucas was unprepared for the sight that met his eyes. The cell wall was solid. Fear descended and filled his mind. _They killed him_.

            Commander Ford had the best view of Tim’s cell. He spoke up, angry and loud. “Why isn’t O’Neill being forced to watch? Don’t you know he’s this man’s best friend?”

            Dr. Smith’s tired voice came from behind the whipping wall. “He’s alive, Jonathan. They tried to make him watch, but every time they forced him into a vertical position, he passed out. He can hear us though.”

            “Dr. Smith,” Lucas called, “are they giving him enough legumes and grains? He’s a vegetarian.”

            A short pause, then, “Tim says not to worry, Lucas. He’s getting enough to eat.”

            Lucas exhaled a small sigh of relief, but he was far from being happy with the situation.

            After a couple of seconds, she added, “Tim also wants to know if anyone else had that same _special_ dream.”

            _Darwin_. That had to be it! The last time they’d all dreamed of Darwin, Tim hadn’t wanted to admit it. Lucas had assumed his recent dream was just his subconscious mind expressing a wish for happier places and carefree times. But if Tim had dreamed of Darwin and admitted it, then Lucas was sure it meant something more. “I did!” Lucas exclaimed.

            “Me too,” came the voice of Miguel, indirect because of the wall he was strapped to.

            “I did too, Tim,” said Dr. Smith.

            Oddly, the captain remained silent. There was no way Darwin sent a dream to them and somehow excluded his oldest, dearest friend. Lucas knew he’d had the dream, and probably everyone else knew too, which was why he didn’t bother to say so. This wasn’t the first time the captain had been so eerily quiet during a whipping. Ortiz or Young would have said something if they’d seen a problem in his cell, just as Ford did when Tim’s wall was solid. No, silence was some kind of calculated scheme on the captain’s part.

            Lucas was 99% sure Executive Order Barracuda wasn’t some fancy-shmancy way to resign and fire everyone. Since everyone else was going along with that story, he would too. But going along with the charade presented another small dilemma. Even if the captain had been more talkative, Lucas didn’t have a clue what to call him if not ‘Captain’. He couldn’t imagine calling him ‘Nathan’ or ‘Mr. Bridger’. Might as well say, ‘Hey, old dude.’ _Yeah, that was sure to go over well_.

            Scratchy Voice Guy moved toward the back of the wall, one fisted hand perched on his hip. “What is this dream you talk about, Mademoiselle?”

            “I-I think it’s a side-effect of the drugs you’ve been giving me,” Dr. Smith said. “I’m projecting images when I’m asleep. I’ve done it before.”

            Lucas couldn’t remember ever hearing such a bold-faced lie from her. He just hoped the Frenchman would buy it. The doctor had just admitted having the dream, so it didn’t really follow well she could be sending it. But if Scratchy Voice believed her, maybe he would reduce the drugs.

            “Enough chit-chat,” he said warningly. “You are upstaging this Spaniard’s turn.”

            “Cuban,” Miguel insisted.

            “ _Mais bien sûr_. ’Ave you anything to say, _Cuban_?”

            Lucas didn’t like the way he said ‘Cuban’ any better than the way he said ‘Spaniard’, it sounded too much like a racial slur.

            Miguel called out something in Spanish, presumably a message for Tim. It struck Lucas how much like Captain Bridger the sensor chief was acting. The captain had been more concerned with Lucas right before his beating and now Miguel was more concerned with Tim.

            Hans and Frans made a show of pulling their weapons from the saltwater bucket. Lucas wondered whether Miguel felt the same level of terror he did, since Miguel had watched them do this so many times already. The anticipation had to be one of the worst aspects, not knowing how much it was going to hurt, and although imagining it to be harsh, the reality still somehow exceeded what­ever horror the mind cooked up.

            The crack of a cat-o-nine and Miguel’s yelp snapped Lucas out of his thoughts. His own back muscles tightened involuntarily with sympathetic pain. He watched and cringed for the first four strokes, and then he just couldn’t handle any more. He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingernails into the chair’s arm. He could still hear the cracking and screaming and Brody’s voice counting the strokes. Lucas tried not to think about it, but every spoken number went into his brain, where his mathematical mind automatically subtracted it from forty and gave him the number of remaining lashes so that he was doing a backwards countdown almost against his will.

            He held his breath when Brody cried “Ten,” the point where Scratchy Voice had given the ‘harder’ order for Tim, but he gave no special orders for Miguel, at least not yet. The milestone passed and the breath released, but Lucas could feel tension building in his back. He tried to will his throbbing muscles to relax, but they refused to listen to his brain’s commands. It was like the tissues themselves had a memory that corresponded to the cracking and smacking and whimpering and screams. On and on it went, relentless and yet taking far too long, as if Brody kept calling out the same number and froze the countdown while blows still continued to land in a perpetual cycle.

            Lucas jerked hard on his hands, probably bruising or cutting into his wrists. He didn’t care. He wanted his fingers free so he could shove them in his ears, to stop the sounds, to escape having to experience his friend’s torture. But the restraints didn’t budge a micron and Lucas grunted in frustration.

            And then he heard Brody say, “Thirty-six.” _Just four more, Miguel, just four more_.

            “It’s almost over, Chief,” someone called. Lucas didn’t recognize the voice. Maybe it was Rick, whose cell was between Captain Bridger’s and Tim’s. Rick wouldn’t realize how much of a mental fog Miguel would be in right now. His pain-filled brain probably couldn’t process the sounds into words that made sense, especially since English wasn’t Miguel’s native tongue. Still, encouraging tones and the awareness of friends on his side probably helped.

            “Three more, Miguel,” Lucas called with as much encouragement as he could press into his voice.

            Several people said, “Two more,” at the same time. At least six voices announced it was one away.

            And then it was over. The lashes stopped landing and the hulks stepped back, dropping their bloody instruments on the floor. The Frenchman launched into his sickening applause and rude comments about how well Miguel and the doctor had ‘performed’.

            If Lucas had wanted to stop up his ears before, he wanted to just as much now. _Isn’t it enough you tortured him? Can’t you just shut up and leave him alone?_ Yet, once Scratchy Voice finished with his stupid congratula­tions, he’d pry the doctor’s hands away and that was one step Lucas wanted to postpone as long as possible. He didn’t know exactly what Dr. Smith had done during his beating, but everything felt a lot worse when their connection was broken. Whatever she was doing, it was helpful and important.

            Lucas stared at the scene, but not really seeing. The actions were routine now. Drug the doctor. Pry hands apart. Haul the doctor’s paralyzed body off to her cell. Drug the whipped victim. Unlock the restraints. Drag his mangled carcass to another cell.

            A faint hum sounded and his cell wall rematerialized, leaving Lucas alone. His restraints disappeared and he could get up from the chair. He scooted forward a little to relieve the pressure on his back, but he didn’t bother standing. Deep in thought, he tried to make sense of it all. Was this all that was left for them now? Endless cycles of torture? Being hurt and having to watch as his best friends were hurt?

            _Light is dark and one_. Despair. Darwin felt deep despair when he was ill, but they found his pod and the other dolphins helped him where no humans could. It wasn’t wrong to feel despair, but it was wrong to let it become a verdict, to accept it as a destiny. Lucas felt it, but he refused to allow it dominion.

            _I choose hope_. He almost said it aloud, but he remembered his cell was bugged. _No, you don’t get to hear it so you can try to even harder to destroy it._


	14. Chapter 14

            Tony went to Kendall within two hours of the time Darwin started repeating the odd message. “He needs some open sea to swim in, Chief. The science guys say if we get into the Aegean, the water will be salty enough.”

            “How about the Sea of Marmara?”

            Tony shook his head. He didn’t know Marmara from Aegean but the science guys had checked Marmara first because it was closer. “The geeks say no-can-do, boss. The salt water is all too deep, like here. We’d have to put him on aqualungs and he won’t get enough sunlight if he’s down that far.”

            “Is he still babbling?”

            “See for yourself.” Tony punched up the closed-circuit monitor to the moon pool. No humans were in the room. The dolphin swam in a slow circle and when he came up for air, he repeated, “If Tim.”

            Kendall shook his head. “Just Tim now?”

            Tony shrugged. “He said Tim was the one who called for help.”

            “Maybe O’Neill rigged some kind of sonar radio or something. He’s a genius with circuits and transducers.”

            “Could be.” While Tony agreed about Tim’s electronics skills, he seriously doubted a guy who could speak a gazillion languages would call a dolphin if he had radio equipment. Anything Darwin could pick up on sonar should have been picked up by WSKRS too.

            No, Tony thought Tim was probably doing that psychic telegraph thing like he did with Dr. Smith after the plane crash. But the doc had warned Tony not to talk about that stuff with anyone else. He’d risk court martial to save the bridge crew, but not for idle conversation. Besides, he couldn’t prove anything.

            “We’ll have to figure out how to get extra fuel on a shuttle because that’s way out of the normal range. I’ll put someone on it right away. Your gills will be okay in the Aegean, right?”

            “Yep. You want me to go?”

            Kendall nodded. “It’s a long shuttle ride and I want someone he knows on sponge duty.”

            Tony smirked. Yet, there were worse duties than keeping a dolphin’s skin wetted down. He was the one who pushed this, so it was only fair he had to do the tedious job. “Aye, Chief.”

            The chief’s eyes softened and he put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I don’t want him in the water alone when he’s acting so strangely. You’d be a lot less conspicuous than anyone in SCUBA gear if you’re seen. I’ll talk to one of the shuttle pilots about routes and travel time, then coordinate for reaching the Aegean at first light tomorrow.”

            “All’s I gotta do is grab my wetsuit and I’m ready.”

            “I’d rather you didn’t wear it. Neoprene is hard to explain to people who’ve never seen plastic or rubber.”

            “Like I’m gonna explain anything if they don’t speak English?” Last he heard, they were close to Russia or Turkey. Not many in this part of the world spoke English even in their own time.

            The engineer sighed. “Yeah, that too.”

            “How cold’s the water?”

            Kendall shrugged. “Someone from Science took some day-length measure­ments and used our latitude to calculate the date. It’s about May 16th, we think. Still no idea what century. The Aegean should be pretty warm this time of year, maybe 68 to 70.”

            Tony grinned. “No problem. I’ve surfed in colder water than that.”

            “If you can stay away from people, it doesn’t much matter. Don’t make yourself sick.”

            “Aye, aye.” Tony gave a quick salute and shot off to tell Darwin.

            When he arrived at the moon pool, the dolphin was still swimming his sad, slow circle, and repeating the short version of his odd philosophy: “If Tim.”

            Tony sighed as he leaned over the water. “If Tim does _what_ , buddy?”

            As soon as Darwin spotted him, he switched to the longer version: “If Tim. If Bridger. If Lucas. If Miguel. If Wendy.”

            “Yeah, you’ve said that before. You’re gonna have to tell Lucas to fix this stupid thing when he gets back.” He waved the vocorder mic in front of the dolphin. “Cuz I don’t understand what you’re sayin’.”

            “Lucas If. Help Lucas.”

            “Well, if you can figure out _how_ to help Lucas, I’m all with ya.” He set the mic on the tank edge and started to rub Darwin’s flank. “You and I are gonna take a trip in a shuttle launch—get you outside so’s you can swim and catch some rays.”

            “Swim outside _seaQuest_?”

            “Yep. We’re going to the Aegean Sea— _good_ water.”

            “Darwin find friends outside _seaQuest_.”

            Tony shook his head softly. He didn’t have the heart to rain on this parade. “Okay, Darwin. You find our friends and we’ll help them.”

            Darwin turned away from the human and swam out to the middle of the moon pool, much faster than he’d been swimming. He leapt out of the water and did a half-flip before landing on his back.

            Tony chuckled. “Glad you’re happy about it. I’ll be back later.”

            “Darwin find friends. Darwin find friends,” he repeated over and over.

            The seaman turned to go, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, “Wish I shared your optimism.”

            He returned to duty and tried to ignore it when the guys analyzing the WSKRS data kept coming up empty. Something would break while he was taking Darwin on this little field trip. By the time they got back, they’d have a nice lead. He’d just keep telling himself that.

            “Piccolo?”

            He turned around to find Kendall looking over his shoulder. Had he been daydreaming too much? “Yes sir?”

            “Report to the moon pool at 2130 to help them load Darwin in the sling. The launch is leaving at 2200.”

            “That soon? I thought you didn’t want us to get there until morning.”

            “That’s how long it’ll take. The Bosphorus and the Dardanelles are narrow straits and you won’t have a WSKRS to do recon. Like I said before, it’s a long trip. You’re going to be on duty all night, so take off now and rest up.”

            “Aye, aye.” Tony left the bridge and went back to his quarters.

            He set out a clean uniform before stripping his old one off and climbing into bed. He wasn’t sure why he still slept on the bottom bunk. Maybe, since Darwin would swim by in the aquatube and see him, he was afraid the dolphin would tell Lucas. Or maybe he was afraid  sleeping in Lucas’s bed would be admitting they weren’t going to find him. Tony had enough on his mind without creating more problems.

            He didn’t think he’d slept at all when he awoke to hear Darwin bumping his beak on the aquatube window. He groaned and tumbled awkwardly out of bed. “Lights. Fifty percent.”

            Dim lights illuminated the room enough for him to find the aquatube. He knocked on the plexiglas and hit the vocorder. “I’m up, Darwin. Geeze.” The alarm wasn’t set to go off for another ten minutes.

            The dolphin seemed satisfied and swam away. Tony dressed and took off to the moon pool. One of the science guys was already in the water with the sling when Tony walked in. “Piccolo’s here,” he called to the other guys on deck.

            They turned around, looking at him strangely.

            Tony glanced at his watch. “What? I’m not late.”

            “Darwin kept asking for you. He was all agitated and wouldn’t get into the sling.”

            Tony chuckled and approached the vocorder. “If you wanna swim outside, you gotta get in the sling. We have to take a long ride, remember?”

            Darwin swam straight into the sling to the amazed gasps of the science guys. They looked at Tony as if he could explain it.

            “Uh, I swim with him sometimes and he knows I share the room with Lucas.” Tony hoped it was a little more than that, but even if it was, the geeks didn’t need to know it.

            They accepted his explanation and maneuvered the crane around to lift the sling out of the moon pool. A motorized hum sounded when the pulleys drew the dolphin slowly out of the water and then moved him to the side of the deck. When they got the sling positioned over a small tank on wheels, they let it down slowly. Tony stood on tiptoe to unhook the sling from the crane. “All right, he’s free and clear. I’ve got him now.” Tony stood behind the tank, ready to push when they got out of the way.

            “Careful, now,” someone said.

            Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What, did they think he was going to go hot-rodding down to the Launch Bay? “Relax. Takes two to drag race.”

            They all went bug-eyed except one. Tony was pretty sure the calm guy was Dr. Forrester, a marine biologist Lucas consulted a lot about dolphin stuff. This guy wasn’t bothered by the wisecracks. Forrester made his way to the head of the tank while talking to the others. “You guys clean up here and then go on back to bed. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”

            “We?” Tony asked.

            “Chief Kendall asked me to go with you to the Aegean and keep an eye out for our Acting Captain. That okay with you?”

            Tony shrugged. “The more, the merrier.” He was secretly relieved he wouldn’t have to tell Darwin when it was time to go home. He could let Forrester be the party-pooper.

            Forrester took the front handle of the tank and led the way out of the moon pool. Tony pushed from behind, watching the water so it didn’t slosh around too much.

            They settled into the launch sub. Forrester had brought one of the portable vocorders, but Tony knew Lucas didn’t think it worked very well. The portable tank was so small that the clicks and whistles echoed back and the probes had trouble distinguishing echoed sounds from originals. And with open water, you had to get the probes very close to the dolphin. Tony had heard Lucas and Miguel griping about how hard it would be to get the pickups to work with whales because they sang to each other and it was difficult to isolate anything in the vast ocean.

            Forrester took the first turn on the sponge, while Tony just rubbed him with his bare hand for a while. Darwin wasn’t acting at all anxious about being in the small tank and unable to swim. He was calm and quiet, like he went for a ride in the shuttle every day.

            Kendall had assigned both a helmsman and a navigator to handle the small sub’s piloting. Negotiating uncharted straits was something like driving a motorcycle with a half-dead headlight through crooked alleys in the middle of the night without a clue whether the road had any dead ends. And while the crew Kendall sent was probably the best they had right now, Tony would have felt a whole lot better if it were Commander Ford and Lieutenant Brody.

            Darwin, of course, probably thought all humans were as good at piloting subs as he was at swimming. It was really too bad about the water salinity, or they could have put the dolphin out front to lead the way. He’d do a better job than a WSKRS. Of course, they wouldn’t need to be going at all if it wasn’t for the salinity problem.

            After about an hour, Forrester handed the sponge to Tony and stood to stretch. Tony took the sponge without comment. That’s what he was there for and he’d already had an hour longer break than he’d expected to get. Forrester paced a few steps back and forth in the small cabin. Tony dunked the sponge in the water and squeezed it out over the dorsal fin. “How ya doin’, Darwin?” he whispered rhetorically.

            The dolphin chirped and the vocorder translated, “Darwin fine.”

            Tony chuckled. “I thought you were sleepin’.”

            “No sleep. Dreams.”

            Forrester returned from his short walk just in time to hear. “Dreaming with­out sleep? Is that like daydreaming?”

            Tony put his hand up to his mouth to shield his whisper. “Lucas doesn’t think the vocorder works so good outside of _seaQuest_.”

            “Friends sleep. Dreams for friends,” the vocorder said.

            Forrester and Tony exchanged questioning glances. Tony shrugged. “Hey, don’t look at me. I’m just the genius’s roommate.”

            “Darwin trusts you,” Forrester observed.

            “Yeah, only because I let him win at water polo.” Tony could tell  Forrester didn’t buy it, but he didn’t argue either. The marine biologist wasn’t so bad for a geek. “Did you hear about his babbling, Doc?”

            “If Tim. If Bridger. If Lucas. If Miguel. If Wendy?”

            “Yeah, that’s it. You got any ideas what it means?”

            “Of all the people missing, those are the ones he knows by name, right?”

            “Far as I know.”

            “I think he knows that _if_ we don’t find them, they might die. Their existence, their ‘if’ depends on us.”

            Tony nodded thoughtfully. That translation made sense, but maybe Forrester hadn’t heard how urgently and incessantly Darwin had repeated that same thing over and over. It just didn’t seem logical that was all there was to it. But there was no sense arguing over dolphin philosophy. Tony held the sponge up. “I got this for a while if you wanna catch some zee’s.”

            “Okay, wake me in a couple of hours and I’ll relieve you.”

            Relief? Wow. He grinned. “You got it.” He glanced down at his diving watch to be sure he’d give him a full two hours.

            Taking turns on sponge duty made the time pass a bit faster, but it had still been a very long night when the pilot announced they were nearing the Aegean. “How cold’s the water?” Tony asked.

            “Looks like 21.”

            “21?” he squealed. “Where the heck’d we go, Siberia?”

            “That’s Celsius, Piccolo. If it was 21 Fahrenheit, we’d be frozen in a block of ice. It’s about 70 Fahrenheit.”

            Tony breathed a sigh of relief. “I can deal with that.” It wasn’t Florida in summertime, but it wasn’t Siberia either. He stripped down to his swim trunks and sat back down on the bench by Forrester, who was watching him a bit too intently. “What?”

            Forrester snapped out of his staring. “Sorry. The gills. I’ve never seen them up close like this.”

            Tony resisted the urge to sigh. Why couldn’t he get chicks to stare at his pecs like the geeks stared at his back? “Yeah, they’re something else, eh?”

            “Wish I had your guts.”

            _Guts?_ He’d really only agreed to get gills so he could get out of jail early. It was more like a scam than real courage, but he didn’t like to admit it. He just nodded and let Forrester think he was brave.

            “Do you know how many people have died trying to perfect those?”

            “Uh, no. They forgot to mention that part. How many?”

            Forrester laughed. “You don’t want to know. I wish I didn’t know, or I’d be getting some too.”

            Tony blinked. “No joke?”

            “No joke. I envy you.”

            Tony didn’t know what to say. No smart guy had ever envied him. They might wish they could land a girl or two he’d had on his arm for a night, but envied him alone? Never. “Yeah, they do come in handy now and then.”

            The engines cut off and the pilot walked back. “Okay, the sun’s up and we’re the only ones in the area. Soon as I let you and Darwin out, I have to submerge and stay out of sight. I’ll hang out at 30 meters and follow you on sonar.” He offered Tony an underwater headset. “You can call me when you’re done. Darwin can’t fit through the diving airlock, so I’ll find a deserted spot to surface for him.”

            Tony adjusted the headset over his ears. “Gotcha.” He turned to the dolphin tank. “You ready to swim?”

            “Darwin ready.”

            Tony gave the thumbs up and the shuttle pilot started his ascent.

            In a few minutes, they had Darwin out of his sling and in the open sea. He took off like a shot, jumping every meter or so. He looked really glad to be swim­ming free again. Tony dove in after him. He turned around just long enough to watch the shuttle sink below the surface, then he swam down where he wouldn’t be seen and looked around for his fishfaced friend.

            Darwin found him and started a game of tag, then swam off like a greased eel. _Man, it’s too early in the morning for the Michael Phelps routine_. Tony really hadn’t had any decent exercise in days, so he picked up the pace and chased after the playful cetacean. Darwin wasn’t even pretending to let Tony catch him. He slowed down when Tony got too far away, but he only waited until he was sure Tony hadn’t lost him before he took off again.

            Tony checked a couple of times to make sure the launch was keeping up. The Aegean might be considered a small sea, but it sure as heck looked like an ocean from where he was. He hoped the guys in the shuttle were monitoring the area for sharks, but he didn’t want to ask, in case sharks didn’t even live in this sea at all and he’d look like the only moron who didn’t know it.

            Since Tony was using his gills and staying pretty deep, it didn’t really matter how close they got to any ships right now, unless maybe it was a fishing boat. _Do they use dolphin-safe nets in whatever century this is?_ Tony doubted it, but he also doubted these square-rigged sailboats had very big nets to begin with. All the same, he wasn’t feeling comfortable with how far ahead Darwin was getting. He stopped swimming and waited. Sure enough, Darwin swam back to see what was holding up his swimming partner. Tony extended his hands to encourage the dolphin to swim to him. Darwin turned around and swam the other way. Tony shook his head. _I’m getting tired of that game._ He hovered in the water, waiting. Darwin stopped and looked back at him, the two of them having an underwater stare-down.

            Finally, Darwin swam back to Tony. _Thatta boy_. Tony rubbed him on the melon for a second, but Darwin didn’t seem to be interested. He rounded Tony’s side and came up under his arm, hooking his dorsal fin under the human’s armpit. Then he took off again, dragging Tony in the water, back on his original course. Tony decided to let the dolphin carry him. At least he’d get tired faster that way.

            But Darwin didn’t get tired. After fifteen minutes, Tony started feeling guilty because he was obviously a lot of weight to pull, so he let go. Darwin came back and tried to carry Tony again. Tony pointed toward the launch, hoping he could communicate it was time for a break. Tony swam toward the shuttle and beckoned Darwin to follow. The dolphin held back, watching. _That’s weird_.

            Tony hit the switch on his underwater mic. “Piccolo to _MR-3_ , come in.”

            “This is _MR-3_ , we read you.”

            “I need to talk to Dr. Forrester.”

            A few seconds later, Forrester’s voice asked, “What is it?”

            “Darwin’s acting weird.”

            “More weird than before? How?”

            “He won’t come to me unless it’s to pick me up and drag me away with him. He’s swimming in a straight line and doesn’t care about playing. I tell ya, something’s weird.”

            “We’ve noticed you’ve been traveling on a linear course. Could he be trying to show you something?”

            “There ain’t nothin’ to see but water and more water!”

            “Well, are you getting tired or cold?”

            “Naw, I’m fine. Just concerned, ya know?”

            “He’s been stuck in the moon pool for a long time, swimming around in little circles. Add to that, his best friends have all disappeared. Cut him some slack, but keep an eye on him.”

            “Whatever you say, Doc. Piccolo out.”

            Tony alternated swimming and letting Darwin carry him along the same straight line for another two hours. The sun climbed high into the sky and Tony’s stomach growled. He activated his underwater mic again. “Piccolo to _MR-3_.”

            “This is _MR-3_. You ready to come in?”

            “Definitely. It’s gotta be lunchtime by now.”

            He heard a background chuckle. “We’re all alone out here, so I’ll bring her up.”

            “Copy, _MR-3_. Meet you uptop.” Tony kicked a leisurely ascent to the surface. Sure enough, there wasn’t as much as a seagull in sight. Way off in the distance, he saw a tiny dot of white that was probably a ship, but it was the only one in any direction. Tony figured Darwin would come up to see what was going on, but the dolphin either hadn’t noticed, or he was hoping Tony’s absence was temporary.

            The shuttle surfaced and opened its side door. Darwin still hadn’t caught up. Tony waved at the shuttle crew. He was still a ways off, but he didn’t feel right going in alone. “I’m gonna go see what’s keeping Darwin.”

            The others gave him a thumb’s up and Tony did a surface dive. He swam down about twenty feet and looked around. Darwin was waiting underwater, hovering like he was afraid of coming closer. When Tony approached, he turned and swam back on his same old course. _Okay, that’s just too weird_. Tony swam back to the shuttle, breaking the surface within ten feet of the open door where the two crew guys and Dr. Forrester stood waiting.

            “He knows you’re here and he knows I’m heading in, but he doesn’t care. I don’t think he wants to come back.”

            “Well, would you?” Forrester asked.

            Having been in prison, Tony understood. Being stuck in that little moon pool forever wouldn’t be very appealing, no matter how much free food came with it. “We’d bring him back to swim.”

            “For how long? It takes fuel to get here and it doesn’t look like there are any gas stations or refineries. It’s only a matter of time before we run out permanently.”

            “We can’t just leave him out here alone. Doesn’t he need a pod or somethin’?”

            “If he won’t come back, what else are you going to do, catch him in a net and drag him in? Bridger has never forced him to stay with us. He’s always been free to swim away and maybe he’s just decided it’s time to do that now.”

            Tony hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the shuttle’s deck. He left his legs dangling in the water. He didn’t feel so hungry anymore. If they ever did find Lucas and the captain, they’d both want to kill _him_ for losing Darwin. Bridger would cool down and listen to Forrester eventually, but Lucas would probably never forgive him. He’d probably insist on changing roommates and…

            Tony had been too deep in thought to notice Darwin swim straight up from below and nudge his foot with his beak. Tony jumped back in the water and threw his arms around the dolphin, not caring what Forrester and the other two guys thought. “Thanks for coming back, buddy,” he whispered.

            Darwin backed out of the impromptu embrace and wagged his upper body back and forth. Something was still wrong. Tony looked up at Forrester.

            “Maybe he just came up to say goodbye,” the scientist said.

            Tony sighed deeply. What was he going to tell Lucas? _Wait_. “Then get the vocorder and let him _say_ it. Let him tell us why he’s leaving so we can tell Lucas and the cap’n, if we find them.”

            Forrester nodded and went back inside to gather the equipment from the portable tank. He returned and handed Tony the receiver probes. The gilled crew­man held one in each hand and faced the dolphin, stretching his arms out to increase the area of sound collection. Forrester turned the remote translator device on and nodded.

            The dolphin seemed to sense when the device was ready because he started chattering. “Tony follow Darwin.”

            “I’ve _been_ following you, but I’m tired. It’s time to go home.”

            “Follow Darwin in shuttle.”

            “The shuttle is running out of fuel. We have to go back to _seaQuest_.”

            “No. Find friends. Follow. Order Tony.”

            The shuttle pilot laughed. “I think the Acting Captain just pulled rank on you, Piccolo.”

            Forrester held up a hand and leaned into the vocorder mic. “Darwin, do you know where your friends are?”

            “Yes.”

            Tony didn’t wait for the vocorder. “Where?” he shouted.

            Whistle-click-click-click. “If.”

            Tony rolled his eyes and dropped his arms. _Here we go again_.

            “No, wait,” said Forrester. He spoke into the vocorder again. “Darwin, is ‘If’ a place?”

            “Yes.”

            Tony blinked and stared at Forrester. The scientist was just standing there like a deer in the headlights. He shook his head. “No, it’s impossible.”

            “What’s impossible?” Tony asked.

            “There’s an island off the coast of France called If. You know, Count of Monte Cristo—Château d’If?”

            Tony had seen that old flick. He never would have guessed that “Shatow Deef” was in any way related to “If”. But Forrester was saying it was the same thing?

            “It’s hundreds of miles from here, past Greece and Italy.”

            Tony spoke into the vocorder. “You can’t swim that far, Darwin! It would take days, maybe weeks.”

            “Friends hurt. Help friends.”

            “Who’s hurt, Darwin? Lucas? Bridger?”

            “All friends hurt. Help friends.”

            Forrester shook his head. He held the vocorder aside and whispered to the shuttle crew. “That might not be true. He knows everyone pays more attention and works faster whenever someone is hurt.”

            Tony shook his head and spoke up indignantly. “Darwin’s not a liar. I say we report what he’s saying to Chief Kendall.”

            “Tony, you said yourself Lucas wasn’t sure about the vocorder’s operation outside of _seaQuest_.”

            “Yeah, well, that was when he wasn’t making sense.”

            “How does it make sense he knows where our bridge crew is, or that they’re hurt, when the place he says they are is hundreds of miles from here?”

            “Dogs hear sounds we can’t hear. Bees see light we can’t see. Dr. Smith can read minds. How do we know Darwin can’t know things just because we don’t?” Man, it was a good thing he’d had some recent debates with Lucas so he could sound smart.

            Forrester set the vocorder down. “You’re right.” He motioned to the pilot. “Call Kendall. I think Darwin’s onto something.”


	15. Chapter 15

            Wendy was beyond exhausted. She’d held the hands and shared the agony of the nine bravest souls in the world while two huge brutes beat them mercilessly. But now their captor had run out of men to ‘welcome’. Wendy knew the madman was planning something different for her and Lonnie, but the only times she had her empathic senses working, she was too preoccupied with other matters to probe his demented mind deeply enough to read the specifics. She could do noth­ing to change or stop it, so it never quite got priority.

            Since Tom Young’s beating, she’d tried even harder to rest, but anxiety wasn’t allowing it. Unless the madman had suddenly developed more patience (obviously wishful nonsense) then tomorrow would be either hers or Lonnie’s turn. She hoped Lonnie would be next and hated herself for hoping it. She wanted more time to recover and she wanted to know what to expect. Deep down, she knew there would be no real way to prepare, but she still clung to the irra­tional notion that foreknowledge would somehow help.

            Wendy tossed and turned on the hard stone platform that presumably repre­sented a bed. Even the thin mattresses back in Medbay were more comfortable than this. The only advantage over sleeping on the floor was that it was easier to stand up and drag her weary body to the toilet or across the cell to collect the bland rations that sustained life. She could only imagine how much worse it was to deal with pain on top of all the other miserable conditions. Up to now, the pain she felt empathically had always ended with a hypospray before she returned to her cell.

            Sleep, when it came, was a sweet escape. She’d known without her empathic senses the dolphin in her dreams was Darwin and he was sending the same dreams to the other crew members. There was no indication Darwin understood where they were and even if he did, they were so far away from _seaQuest_ , it hardly mattered. But the dreams did confirm Darwin was connected to them and missed them. After a Darwin dream, she felt imbued with peace, like drinking liquid love. It made even less sense than the temperature of light, but that had turned out to be legitimate and important, so she didn’t question her odd interpretation. At least it was comforting.

            But she couldn’t escape into the dream if she couldn’t get her mind to shut off, and right now, no matter what meditation techniques she tried, sleep was not coming. She couldn’t have said how long it had been since darkness fell. It may have been minutes or hours. She expected the night to be both too long and too short at the same time. It was pitch black in her cell when she heard the speaker crackle into life and that unmistakable scratchy voice boom through the still air of the night. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle.”

            _Don’t tense up. Don’t show fear._

            “As I am sure you ’ave already surmised, your next performance will be your spotlight appearance rather than the supporting role you ’ave practiced so well. ’Owever, because of my respect for your fairer sex, I am extending you a choice I did not give the males. You ’ave observed all of them closely, non? Choose one as a mate. I will quarter you together and if this male cooperates, I will grant ’im favors as well. Surely none of these brave men would refuse this, knowing it would spare you from…” He paused dramatically. “…bastinado.”

            _Foot whipping_. So that was what he’d planned for her and Lonnie. It would appear generous because they wouldn’t have to remove their shirts and expose themselves so indecently. There was little danger of bleeding to death and it was unlikely to leave superficial scars. But the soles of the feet had a very high concentration of nerve endings, which made it an extremely painful torture. And all the tiny bones and tendons would be highly vulnerable. Healing would take longer than a flogging to the back and walking would be next to impossible in the interim. Despite her resolve to hide her fear, she shuddered uncontrollably. At least it was too dark for him to see.

            “I am sure you appreciate what is at stake ’ere. Once you conceive, you will be excused from any _activity_ which could cause physical ’arm. Your rations would improve as well as the accommodations for both you and your chosen mate. But do not mistake my beneficence for patience. If you do not choose in a reasonable time, _I_ will impregnate you myself.”

            Wendy gasped.

            “Yes, I see you understand quite well, Mademoiselle. You ’ave until curtain call to decide. Until then, _chérie_ , bonne nuit.”

            _And there went any hope of sleep tonight_. She stared into the blackness as tears formed in her eyes and spilled copiously into her pillow. Should she refuse to involve any of her crewmates and not only suffer immediate consequences, but invite a later rape by the man she despised more than anyone she’d ever met? Or should she take the easy short-term and accept favors for herself and one other, only to doom herself and him to long-term consequences if a child were born? And if she chose the latter course, which of the nine men did she put in this unenviable position?

            It also struck her Lonnie wouldn’t realize Beauregard had accelerated growth technology. That madman could tell her any number of plausible lies to hide his true intentions. Would Wendy have a chance to warn her? And _should_ she tell her the truth when it made this choice so agonizingly impossible? Wendy wished she didn’t know, wished she hadn’t probed the depths of depravity in his twisted mind.

            She cried herself to exhaustion, but it didn’t lead to sleep. Twilight crept into her cell through the window and her stomach tightened in knots. Wendy had changed her mind a half dozen times and still didn’t feel good about her final choice. She wanted that gas to knock her unconscious indefinitely so she didn’t have to think or feel or choose. She wanted her spotlight time to be over and yet dreaded its commencement. The silence closed in around her, suggesting a clock that had stopped ticking and thereby stopped time itself.

            She somehow missed the static that usually alerted her to imminent use of the speaker, so the scratchy voice startled her when it reverberated off the walls. “Your choice, Mademoiselle?”

            Wendy drew a deep breath. Her voice was small and meek even though she tried to project strength. “Bastinado.”

            Beauregard answered in a tone devoid of emotion. “As you wish.” The ventilation grate hissed and sweet unconsciousness swallowed her into its welcome clutches.

            She awoke to a flood of artificial light, something she’d only previously seen in the torture chamber. She had been stretched on her back with her arms over her head and her wrists secured in stocks made of the same material as the cell walls. Her ankles were secured likewise and her feet were bare. The horizontal platform (which felt just like the whipping wall) was tilted so that the foot end was about twenty inches higher than her hands, no doubt to put her soles at the optimum level for Hans and Frans to hit.

            “Hasn’t she suffered enough already?” Jonathan’s voice said. “You’ve forced her to experience everyone else’s beatings. She’s had nine welcomes. She doesn’t need a tenth.”

            _Yes, but none of you had a choice_ , she thought miserably. Would he feel stupid for trying to stop this if he knew she could have stopped it herself? And why couldn’t she feel him anyway? To her distress, she realized she hadn’t been given the drug that restored her empathic senses. She could hear her friends, but she couldn’t _feel_ them. It was worse than being alone. Without empa­thy, the voices were like dusty, lifeless recordings. They might be computer-generated for all she could tell.

            “Why doesn’t she get anyone to hold her hands?” Tim asked indignantly. It was the strongest his voice had been since his own thrashing.

            “Hmm,” said Beauregard. “Perhaps you ’ave a point, Monsieur O’Neill.”

            Wendy couldn’t tell if he was really considering it or not. She wished she could have the comfort of another’s touch, just for the moral support, if nothing else. Without her empathic senses, she felt so alone in the room, so isolated.

            “Allow me,” Nathan said. He’d been so quiet for literally weeks,  Wendy had almost forgotten he was still in the same facility. “You objected before be­cause I was the ‘strong leader’, but you’ve already stripped that away. I’m just another prisoner now.” He sounded very defeated and Wendy wished she could tell whether it was an act or whether he’d truly lost hope. Most of all, she wanted to feel _him_.

            Then she heard Tim thinking, probably unaware he was Transmitting. _He’s not going to go for that, Captain. Humiliation isn’t what drives this guy. He calls this place a theater. What he wants is **drama**_.

            Wendy was somewhat surprised she could hear him. This meant the madman hadn’t given her a booster dose of the blocking drug; he’d just withheld the enhancer. Because Tim was so nearby and so naturally loud, could she hear him even when she couldn’t feel anyone else.

            Nathan said, “Surely you’re not _threatened_ by me just holding her hands?”

            _He must need to talk to her if he broke his silence_ , Tim thought, _but that lunatic isn’t going to let him unless…_ _I can’t believe I’m doing this…_ His mind­voice was full of nervous apprehension. _Please forgive me, Captain._ Then he raised his regular voice and infused it with anger. “Shut up, Nathan!”

            A collective gasp sounded around the room. The communications officer never used the captain’s first name. The most familiar he ever got was to use “Bridger” without “Captain” or “sir” in the same breath. Wendy could hardly believe it herself. Maybe her friends really weren’t here. Maybe they were all recordings.

            Without hesitation, Tim plowed on. “You’ve monopolized Wendy for months now. She isn’t your property and you can’t have her just because you’re the captain. She’s sickened by your attention. So just leave her the hell alone. She doesn’t want to hold your possessive, manipulative hands.”

            “How dare you,” Nathan growled. “I could kill you with these _manipulative_ hands.”

            Wendy breathed a tiny sigh of relief. If Nathan went straight to threats, he probably understood Tim’s intent and was playing along. At least he hadn’t lost his sharp instincts.

            “Yeah, why don’t you, old man? Have a jealous fit and kill me because she loves me and not you.”

            _Oh, no._ Claiming to be her lover was far too dangerous right now. “Tim, don’t,” she cried.

            “It’s all right, Wendy,” he said in a syrupy sweet voice. “He can’t hurt me anymore.” _Just play along, Doctor_ , he mindspoke, quite deliberately this time. His tone changed completely when he spoke aloud, sneering and acidic: “Nathan’s just an impotent quitter.”

            Beauregard crouched beside her and slid his finger across her cheek. It took every ounce of her willpower not to wince or turn her head away in disgust. But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. His hot breath wafted over her neck, causing chills to course her spine. “So, you ’ave a secret lover, Mademoiselle? But now your little secret is out. This is your last chance to change your mind.”

            God, it was tempting. Tim had already stepped out on a limb for her, and all he thought was at stake was whether anyone would get to hold her hands. She knew he thought of her like a sister and he probably wouldn’t begrudge her using him to escape torture. _No._ He had no idea what was really going on and she wouldn’t foist the possibility of a child on him just to evade some pain. She squeezed her eyes shut and mentally strengthened her resolve and hopefully her voice. “I’m not changing my mind. Just get this over with.”

            “Stubborn little wench, eh? Ah, well, the spotlight is yours and I think I shall allow Monsieur Bridger to ’old your ’ands, after all.”

            Wendy shuddered visibly to further the illusion Tim had worked so hard to conjure. Beauregard chuckled a mirthless laugh as he walked away from her, taking one of his brutes along with him.

            Tim’s very meek and very contrite mind-voice spoke again. _Doctor, please tell the captain I’m sorry. Beauregard wasn’t going to allow him near you unless it looked like you despised him_.

            Wendy wished she could answer him somehow.

            A quiet electronic hum sounded. No one made a peep. Wendy turned her head to see what they were doing. Beauregard had dissolved the wall to Nathan’s cell and was approaching his chair with the immobilizing hypospray. Wendy realized this was probably her only chance. She called out, “Lonnie? Can you hear me?”

            There was no answer. Lonnie’s cell was only two away from Nathan’s, on the other side of Lucas’s. Wendy craned her neck to try to get a glimpse, but her own knee was in the way and the restraints on her ankles wouldn’t let her move her leg.

            “What’s wrong?” Lucas asked. “Why isn’t Lonnie answering?”

            “Her wall isn’t clear like the rest of ours,” Brody said from the opposite side of the room. “It’s smoky-looking. Lonnie, if you can hear me, nod your head.”

            “Well?”

            “She’s not nodding. She looks okay, but she can’t hear us.”

            _Damn that madman!_ Wendy couldn’t warn her about his plans. There was only one thing left to do. Wendy called out to the room: “If any of you get a chance to talk to her, you’ve got to tell her the Frenchman won’t let her keep her baby. He’s got accelerated growth technology. He’ll age the child so he can torture it in front of us all.”

            Horrified gasps erupted from all directions, but it was more subdued than the gasps over Tim’s unexpected outburst. They were probably jaded by now.

            “We’ll tell her, Doctor,” Ford promised.

            _If you get a chance,_ Wendy thought miserably. It was highly unlikely anyone would have any contact with her before she was given that same impossible decision to make. Without all the facts, Lonnie would probably choose a mate. The only consolation was whomever she chose could relay the message and they could decide together what to do from there.

            Beauregard suddenly appeared in Wendy’s peripheral, looking furious. His hand reared back and delivered a sound slap to her cheek. “You ’ave no right to spread lies. Desist this talk immediately.”

            Wendy had already said everything she could and she was in no position to provoke her captor. She gulped silently and turned her attention to the paralyzed body of Nathan being dragged toward the rack she was clamped to. His white undershirt was stained in blood and his uniform jumpsuit was terribly wrinkled. However, as disheveled as his uniform looked, she noticed he hadn’t removed his rank insignia. She’d known he was lying about his resignation the moment he announced it, but wasn’t it dangerous to leave that kind of evidence? Perhaps it was a subtle hint to the crew who didn’t know him as well, assuming they could ever get close enough to see it.

            Beauregard moved out of her line of sight, probably to secure the captain. She was relieved she didn’t have to tolerate the madman’s cold gaze for a few seconds. She heard the warders mumbling in French, but she didn’t care enough to listen. She had yet to reveal she could understand their language. It was better to let them think her ignorant so she could eavesdrop when it was important.

            She felt Nathan’s hands touch hers, but they were clammy and limp. _Probably still paralyzed_. She yearned to grasp his hands and hold tight, but she didn’t want to shatter the illusion she hated his overbearing guts, so she resisted. He’d have to force it when the paralyzer wore off. She heard the scuffling sounds of them shoving his body around and the familiar click of restraints locking.

            Hans and Frans took up their places by her feet, one on each side. One of them held a flexible, narrow rod that looked very much like a riding crop and the other held a wooden handle attached to a twelve-by-one inch leather strap. She wondered idly whether each was planning to lay claim to a single foot or whether they would land their blows on both feet simultaneously and share the target. Her arms and legs started to shiver.

            _Control your fear_ , she admonished herself.

            “Wendy, I’m here,” Nathan whispered as he grasped her hands. The madman launched into some pompous speech detailing the history of bastinado, so they had a little time.

            “I-I can’t read you this time,” she whispered back. “He’s left me blind for this one.”

            “Are you and Tim…?”

            She couldn’t help the upturn tugging at the corners of her mouth. “No. Not even the slightest. He did all that for _you_ , so you could be here.”

            “He had me going for a second there.”

            “He asked me to relay his apologies.”

            “Nothing to apologize for. He’s following my orders.”

            “You ordered him to call you a jealous, impotent quitter in front of the rest of the crew?” She wished she could inject more humor in her tone, but she was too scared at the moment.

            “Barracuda. I ordered him to find a weapon against this madman at all costs. He found one.”

            “Reverse psychology. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.”

            “You’ve had a lot on your mind, Doctor.”

            Beauregard’s speech was winding down. Wendy was acutely aware there was very little time. “Nathan, I can’t hold a briefing when they start beating me. I’m not strong like you.”

            “Wendy…” His voice held that comforting air of fatherly protectiveness. “I didn’t want to hold your hands just to press information out of you. I can’t help you the way you helped all of us, but you shouldn’t have to be alone.”

            Panic fluttered in her words. “His name is François Beauregard.” _What else was important?_ Her mind searched frantically for the mental list she’d made of all the things she needed to tell him, but fear replaced all semblance of rational thought.

            “Thank you. I’m relieving you of duty for the next twenty-four hours. Concentrate on yourself for once.”

            How did he know how much she needed to hear that? She closed her eyes and squeezed his hands as tightly as she could. The leather-strap-thing struck, hitting both her soles simultaneously. Pain exploded near the heel and jolted down her legs, ending at her hips. She screamed. The crop landed next and she found the pain sharper, with a highly concentrated and focused sting. The way they were alternating so quickly, she would never be able to diffuse the pain with her mind. It was like trying to juggle a bowling ball and a flaming baton, both dangerous, yet too dissimilar to be handled the same way.

            Her whole consciousness was engulfed in agony and she was only vaguely aware of Nathan squeezing her hands and whispering words of comfort. The other captives ranted and yelled at the Frenchman and his thugs. She screamed and cried and screamed some more. She couldn’t have asked to change her mind now even if she wanted to. This was probably a good thing because she really _needed_ the blows to stop landing on her tender metatarsals and she would probably say anything to bring that result about.

            Suddenly, Lucas yelled, “Hey, that’s forty-one. Stop! Why are you making her take more than anybody else?”

            Nathan joined the retort. “Don’t your troglodytes know how to count?” Though still holding her hands, she could feel him struggling against the restraints.

            Tim repeated Lucas’s objection in French. Hans and Frans stopped and looked at their employer with a startled expression. Beauregard growled back, reminding them in French to ignore the prisoners and keep beating the feet. They resumed, and it was worse than had they never stopped. Those few seconds of reprieve had allowed her to catch her breath and gather her wits, and it was harder to have the relief snatched away so soon. She broke into sobs.

            Nathan squeezed her hands and grunted his frustration. “How many more, you animal?” he shouted toward Beauregard.

            But the Frenchman didn’t answer and the assault continued.

            A voice she didn’t recognize counted aloud, “Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty.”

            The number sixty echoed in her mind. No new blows struck her feet. No one spoke.

            “It’s over, Wendy,” Nathan whispered. “It’s over. You’re going to be all right.”

            She couldn’t do anything but sob. Her whole body trembled.

            Applause and that grating praise for her performance came next. She was convinced this was almost as much torture as the beating, but at least she could rest now.

            The hiss of hypospray loosened the grip of Nathan’s fingers and then his hands were forcibly torn from hers. Hans and Frans hauled him away and she couldn’t even summon the strength to say goodbye or thanks. She felt badly about it for a grand total of three seconds before she realized how well it fit with their charade of Nathan being the possessive, domineering boss who stood in the way of her happiness. She let it go without guilt.

            Her feet throbbed. Every heartbeat increased their swelling until they felt like overloaded balloons ready to burst at the pressure.

            Beauregard admired her throbbing soles and then shoved his cold hypospray into her neck. The pain remained, but her trembling finally stopped and her whimpering became silent. He played with buttons on his remote and the restraining stocks released her ankles and wrists. One of the brutes picked her up and flung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and tromped off back to her cell. She was dumped unceremoniously on her stone bed. After footsteps retreated, the wall hummed back in place and she was left alone in the dark.


	16. Chapter 16

            The shuttle pilot radioed Chief Kendall back on _seaQuest_. Tony was too busy drying off to hear the conversation, but it wasn’t long until he was asked to come to the radio.

            “Piccolo, what’s your take on this?” Kendall asked.

            “Well, sir, I think Darwin knows where our bridge crew is—some island called If. Doc Forrester says it’s near France.”

            “I know where it is. But how do you know he means an island and not something else?”

            Gosh, for an engineer, this guy could be thick. “We asked him. The vocorder, remember? Darwin says it’s a place and that’s where his friends are. He also said they’re hurt. He is _ordering_ me to follow him and…” Tony lowered his voice so no one else would hear, “…and unless you’re planning to relieve him as captain, then I’m gonna follow him if I have to swim the whole way.”

            “Are you insane? Do you know how far that is? How do you plan to eat and sleep? What are you and one dolphin going to do when you get there?”

            “Hell if I know. I’m just following orders. What do _you_ plan to do when I ask Darwin whether he thinks you should send us enough fuel to take the shuttle and he orders _you_ to do it?”

            “Piccolo, for a dipstick, you’re pretty smart.”

            “Thank you, sir. Does that mean you’re gonna send us the fuel?”

            Kendall sighed. “Might as well. We’ve got no other leads. I’ll send fuel and rations, plus a couple of Brody’s assault team guys. If you find the captain and the others, you may need help.”

            Tony wondered who was still left with ground combat training, since Brody, Ortiz, Ford, and Henderson were the best he knew of, and all of them were among the missing. “Good idea, Chief. We’ll slow to dolphin speed until they can rendezvous with us.”

            “Can’t you convince Darwin to wait there?”

            “I don’t think a school of sharks could convince him to wait.”

            Tony heard laughing and then Kendall muttering below his breath, “Me and my bright ideas. Confirm the dolphin as Acting Captain. How bad could it be?”

            “Could be worse. He coulda said they were in China.”

            “Okay, okay. You’re right. At least we _have_ enough fuel to get you to If. Rendezvous in ten hours. Kendall out.”

            Darwin swam for another four hours with the shuttle following close behind. They clocked him at about twelve miles per hour, which Forrester said was appreciably faster than a normal cruising speed of seven, but only half as fast as he could achieve for a short burst if he had to out-swim a predator. He was obviously pushing it with endurance in mind. Tony felt exhausted just watching him.

            “Piccolo, maybe you can talk to him, get him to come rest for a while,” Forrester suggested. “Otherwise, he might wear himself out.”

            “What should I say?”

            “Tell him if he comes back on the shuttle, that we’ll maintain course and speed toward If. He just needs to know we understand now where he’s going and he won’t lose ground by resting.”

            “Why don’t _you_ tell him?”

            “Because he _trusts_ you. He knows you care about Lucas and Bridger. He knows _you_ supported him when _I_ wanted to turn around and leave him alone out here.”

            Tony raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, break out the vocorder and see if he’ll talk to me.”

            Darwin did turn around to see what was going on when the shuttle stopped forward momentum to surface. Tony leaned out the door and held the vocorder probes in the water. “Hey, buddy, why don’t you come inside with us for a while? The shuttle will keep going.”

            “Not go back to _seaQuest_.”

            “No. We’re all going to If _with you_ , to find Lucas and Bridger and Tim and Miguel and Wendy. You can rest while the shuttle keeps going. Chief Kendall, your right hand dude, is sending us more fuel and then the shuttle can take us the whole way, faster than swimming.”

            “Shuttle follow Darwin.”

            “The pilot knows where If Island is. You don’t have to show us how to get there.”

            “Darwin rest in shuttle.”

            Tony rubbed his rostrum. “Good idea.” He nodded back at Forrester, who was waiting with the sling. Forrester approached slowly, like he was afraid Darwin would bolt. Tony decided to play diplomat. He spoke into the vocorder: “You’re okay with Dr. Forrester, right?”

            “Forrester help find friends?”

            Forrester answered in a sheepish voice, “Yes. I’m sorry I wanted to leave you alone, Darwin. I didn’t understand. We humans can be stupid sometimes.”

            Tony chuckled and muttered under his breath, “You can say that again.” He slipped into the water to get the sling placed properly and soon they had the dolphin back in the portable tank and the shuttle submerged again. Forrester took up the first sponge shift, probably trying to get back in the dolphin’s good graces. The pilot increased their speed to fifteen miles per hour, which would keep Captain Darwin happy. It was still a snail’s pace, only delaying the rendezvous an extra ten minutes. Tony curled up on the shuttle bench and was out like a light.

            He awoke to Forrester’s rather forceful nudging; he’d been under deep. Tony yawned, stumbled into standing, and squinted sleepy eyes at his watch. “Five hours, Doc? Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

            “What, you don’t think I can handle a sponge? You needed the sleep. I didn’t swim six miles yesterday with a determined dolphin.”

            “Six miles? Is that all? I woulda guessed thirty.”

            Forrester chuckled. “Good thing you’re not swimming all the way, huh?”

            Tony wasn’t sure he would have been able to swim for days on end, but he hadn’t been bluffing about trying. It was just a good thing Kendall had decided to send the fuel. Sure, this lead was probably a long-shot, but what else were they supposed to do in this backward century? They couldn’t even answer distress calls from these flimsy wood sink-traps because no one had a radio to call with and carrier pigeons couldn’t reach a submarine.

            Tony tried not to think about what might happen if Bridger and the rest couldn’t get them all out of here. No home to call. No UEO to send paychecks. No electric guitars. No new movies ever. They would have to live like Captain Nemo hermits in this pre-Verne hellhole. Tony shuddered.

            Forrester laid his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Lucas was right about you, you know.”

            “Why? What’d he say?”

            “I think his exact words were, ‘He’s annoying as hell, but deep down, he’s got a heart of gold.’”

            “Lucas really said that?”

            “Uh…you didn’t hear that from me.”

            “Course not.”

            “I didn’t believe it before, but I do think Darwin knows where they are. We’re going to find Lucas and the others.”

            “I hope you’re right, Doc.”

            “We’ve got another hour before the rendezvous. We should ask Darwin if he wants to swim until then.”

            “He’s only rested five hours. Is that long enough?”

            “No, but he’ll have lots of time to rest after we get fuel. Swimming later will mean slowing down. I don’t think he’s going to let us slow down for anything, do you?”

            Tony shook his head. “Nope. But Cap’n Bridger wouldn’t slow down either.”

            The scientist laughed. “Probably not, but Bridger doesn’t need to keep his skin wet to keep from getting sick.”

            Tony lowered his voice and spoke in a serious tone. “You keep an eye on Darwin, Doc, and tell me if he’s hurtin’ himself. I ain’t above disobeyin’ direct dolphin orders if it’s for his own good.”

            Forrester nodded. “Glad we both understand the situation. We probably won’t need to do anything sneaky. I think he’s smart enough to tell us when he needs to swim. He can’t help us find the bridge crew if he’s sick.”

            Tony bent over the tank and flipped the vocorder switch on. He rubbed Darwin on the flank and spoke quietly. “Hey, buddy, you awake?”

            His closed eye opened. “Darwin awake.”

            “We’ve got another hour before the fuel gets here. You want to swim a while?”

            “Tony play?”

            Tony rubbed his eyes. “I’ll swim wit’cha if you want me to. Just no more of that Michael Phelps routine, okay? I’m too tired.”

            “Tony sleep. Darwin swim alone.”

            “You sure? We’re both gonna have lots of time to sleep after we get the fuel and the shuttle starts going fast again. If Island is far away.”

            “Darwin swim alone. Hunt.”

            “Good idea. Get some good grub.” Kendall would probably include plenty of frozen fish when he sent rations, but that had to be a far cry from anything fresh. Tony couldn’t remember Darwin hunting at all yesterday because he’d been trying so hard to show everyone where Lucas was.

            Forrester walked to the forward compartment to converse with the pilot about surfacing. From what Tony overheard, the supply shuttle had been in contact already. He turned back to the vocorder. “You watch out for sharks and come back when you see us dock with the other shuttle. Once we have the supplies, we’re out of here at top speed, right?”

            “Fast food the best food.”

            Tony laughed and splashed him on the beak. “You spend way too much time with Lucas.”

            They got Darwin back into the Aegean. Tony relieved the co-pilot because he looked too tired to be watching the instruments for the small biologicals that could be dangerous to a dolphin. Tony was no expert, but at least he’d had five hours of decent sleep. What they really needed was a WSKRS and Miguel, but that wasn’t gonna happen. Tony would consult the pilot and Forrester if he saw anything iffy. He grinned. _Watchin’ for iffy on the way to If. This is gonna make a good sea tale someday._


	17. Chapter 17

            Seaman Lonnie Henderson had assumed she would eventually have to endure the same beating she’d witnessed all the men endure. She’d been with them when they were at their lowest, moaning in agony. She’d had to touch them when they least wanted to be touched, trying to stave off infection and stop the bleeding. Not a single one of them complained or refused what she’d been sent to do, even though it was apparent the antiseptic stung like the devil and added to their considerable pain.

            Then Dr. Smith had her turn and Lonnie was forced to watch, but her cell wall was soundproof. She couldn’t hear anything. Before it started, she knew this torture would be different. The whipping wall was horizontal and the doctor’s wrists were positioned over her head and secured in stocks. She was fully clothed and lying on her back, not prone. At first, it looked like that insane Frenchman was going to stretch her, like Lonnie had read about happening in medieval times.

            Then there was an odd delay, probably Commander Ford trying to reason with the madman and talk him out of whatever horrible thing he had planned. But all too soon, one of the big brutes hauled Captain Bridger out of his cell, looking limp and lifeless. Since no one had heard from him for so long, Lonnie feared he’d gone on a hunger strike or said something that had provoked their captor to kill him. She very nearly broke into tears until she saw them locking him up near the doctor’s hands. He’d only been drugged with that damned paralyzer and hauled out to hold her hands, probably so the madman could make him feel more helpless while he tortured the doctor within his grasp.

            The Frenchman kept _touching_ Dr. Smith—on her cheek, on her hair, on her leg. He twisted those thin lips into a sly grin and stared straight at Lonnie, right through to her very soul. He didn’t even have to mouth words for her to know what he was thinking. Between his lecherous stares and realization of what they planned to do to Wendy, Lonnie felt sick. But she’d learned long ago not to eat on the morning of torture days, so there was nothing in her stomach.

            Then the beating started. Wendy’s feet jerked at the blows and Lonnie could see the agony in her silent screams. The captain’s face was wrenched up in sympathy and he couldn’t bear to look at anything but the doctor’s hands for the duration. His lips were moving, probably saying something incredibly inspiring and encouraging. Even when he’d been beaten to shreds himself, he’d had words of encouragement and hope for Lonnie. If there was one thing she knew about Captain Bridger, he didn’t just make up wishful thoughts and foist them on others because he wanted them to believe him. He always spoke with sincere conviction. You couldn’t even thank him for his optimism because that was like suggesting there was any doubt he knew for sure.

            Lonnie hadn’t kept count while they beat Wendy’s poor feet. She couldn’t bring herself to watch most of the time. This was the first time she couldn’t hear someone else calling out the numbers, so it probably just seemed like more than forty to her. But as brutal as it looked while those thugs were smacking, when it was finally over, her soles didn’t really look that bad. With the smoky-translucent wall she had to look through, Lonnie couldn’t see any inflammation, though mentally she knew there had to be some. There didn’t appear to be blood or cuts either, which meant Wendy wouldn’t need anyone to come wash her wounds. This was both comforting and distressing. She didn’t want the torture to have been any worse, but she did wish she could talk to the doctor and prepare herself for her own turn.

            Less than a day later, and much sooner than Lonnie was ready for, that scratchy voice startled her out of her thoughts. “Ah, Mademoiselle ’Enderson, are you ready for your welcome?”

            _How could anyone be ready?_ “No.”

            “You do not ’ave to suffer, you know.”

            She narrowed her eyes on the ventilation grate where she assumed his camera was. “Don’t I?”

            “Non. I am giving you a choice.”

            _Right._ Did she look stupid?“If you think for one minute I’m going to let someone else take my place, forget it.”

            “You ’ave seen them all, non? The men, I mean. Seen their wounds and felt their pain?”

            She didn’t answer.

            “But of course you ’ave. I give you the opportunity to ease the pain of one of them. Choose a mate and I will give you larger quarters, a soft bed, and better food. Conceive and you are _both_ excused from any further beating of any kind.”

            _Conceive? As in a **baby**? _ Was he serious? “Why?”

            “If you ’ave some comforts and start a family, you are less likely to attempt escape.”

            “Go to hell.”

            “Ah, but we are already there, non?”

            He had that much right. But she wasn’t about to concede anything to him.

            “Let me make this—’ow do you say?—crystal clear. The choice is not whether to ’ave a child or non. But whether _you_ choose the father and accept the benefits I ’ave graciously offered, or I beat your feet for being an ungrateful shrew, then I take you myself, and afterwards you remain in this cell, _alone,_ and sleep on that cold slab for your gestation. You _will_ ’ave a child, either way.”

            Lonnie tried with all her might to hold back her emotions, but she failed. She buried her face in her hands and wept. Just when she thought he’d turned off the speaker to leave her alone, he spoke again, his voice soft and sickly sweet.

            “If not for yourself, at least consider how you might ’elp one of your friends, Mademoiselle. A comfortable bed is well-appreciated when one’s back has been beaten forty lashes so recently. And a little meat and wine would go far to numb the pain and promote healing, oui?” He paused while she tried to cry without sound. “Bonne nuit, Mademoi­selle ’Enderson. You ’ave until morning to decide.”

            _Morning? As in **tomorrow** morning? What happened to three days between torture sessions? _ She wanted to ask, but not while she was blubbering like a fool. _Damn_. Not even Lucas had been this big of a crybaby. Why couldn’t she be brave and strong like the men? They were always sticking up for each other at any cost but she had to break down in tears when she had it easier than any of them.

            _Then again, he could be lying_. Maybe that was why the wall had been sound­proofed during Wendy’s torture—so Lonnie wouldn’t hear how shocked Wendy was when she didn’t escape the foot beating. Wendy had probably chosen Captain Bridger. Everyone knew they had some kind of _thing_ going, maybe not a romance, but close enough. But instead of earning him a comfortable bed, he got paralyzed and dragged around like a rag doll. She still got tortured and the hope of a warm embrace was corrupted into merely holding hands, mocking her wishes like rubbing salt in her wounds.

            Lonnie wasn’t going to escape the foot beating. She realized that now. It was probable nothing would prevent the rape either, but she hoped choosing a mate would postpone it a while, maybe until after her feet healed.

            So whom would she choose?

            She and Tim had been on shaky ground ever since their disastrous date. He’d said he’d forgiven her for the ice cream sundae she’d planted in his face, and they had both been civil in their professional interactions, but their off-duty relation­ship was still rather awkward. Even without their past to consider, his beating had been far worse than anyone else’s and she didn’t want those brutes to drag him out of his cell just to hold her hands. If they caused those deep wounds to reopen, she’d never forgive herself.

            Jonathan had had the most time to heal. Yes, he’d once tried to send Addison to the incinerator, and he’d been very aloof and cold around her lately, but he was always a gentleman. He’d be pragmatic about it.

            Jim was also a practical choice. He’d had almost as much time to heal and he always treated her like one of the guys. Yet, he could be sensitive when the situation called for it.

            However, on the off-chance the Frenchman actually housed her with whomever she chose, there was really only one person she wanted to live with—Miguel. They’d had a rocky start, but that was mostly her fault for going overboard with jealousy when that folk singer came aboard _seaQuest_. Even so, Miguel had readily accepted Lonnie’s apology and took her to the concert, kissing her right in front of the captain, albeit on the cheek. There hadn’t been much time since then to explore other possibilities, but she had high hopes for spending a lot of time together when the tour ended and they both had extended leave. __

The other advantage of choosing Miguel: he wasn’t a commissioned officer like Jim and Jonathan. The regulations had always been pretty relaxed on _seaQuest_ , but she didn’t relish the thought of getting anyone in trouble. Surely no one would hold anything against them in their present circumstances, but rumors could easily get started once they were all out of danger and back home. She wanted to be an officer herself one day, so she had to show respect for regula­tions, didn’t she? Unfortunately, she knew it was probably just a flimsy excuse to choose the man she was most attracted to rather than who was most logical.

            Logic or attraction? Wasn’t there some way she could have both? Did it really matter how much time had passed since their beatings? They’d all had at least two weeks, so was the extra nine days Jonathan had over Miguel really that significant?

            That Frenchman surely wasn’t going to let her conduct paternity interviews, especially if this whole “choose your mate” scenario was the farce she thought it was. She wanted to decide before she fell asleep. Once she was in that torture chamber, clamped to the rack with two thugs fixing to beat her, she’d be in no position to think rationally. She just hoped she could take her whipping as well as Wendy had—with dignity and defiance.

            Lonnie finally decided she’d try to talk to Miguel, choosing him unless something in his tone or manner sent up a red flag. Jim would be her fall-back if that happened, but Miguel would really have to shock her. She’d made up her mind. With that settled, she drifted into a fitful sleep.

            “Mademoiselle ’Enderson!” It was the madman shattering her illu­sion of rest. He almost sounded like he’d called her more than once already, but she couldn’t have been that deeply asleep, could she?

            She opened her eyes. “What?”

            “What is your choice?”

            Why did he ask her now? Didn’t he want to do that with everyone watching? How would she feel out Miguel? Though she might have modified her plan if she had known she would be asked in private, this wasn’t enough to change her decision. “Ortiz. I choose Ortiz.”

            “Very well.”

            Lonnie couldn’t discern either satisfaction or disappointment in his voice, but then why should there be? The Frenchman had absolute control and could do anything he wanted according to his whim. The ventilation grate hissed and darkness closed in around her.

            When she awoke, she was surprised to find herself lying unfettered on a soft surface. The room was dimly lit, not bright, like the torture chamber. A few seconds of examination revealed the wall between her cell and Mitchell’s had been removed, doubling the space, and in place of the wall was this huge, incredibly comfortable bed. Lonnie sat up. She wasn’t alone. On the pillow beside her, she spotted Miguel’s long, wavy locks. His face now sported a full beard, but he wasn’t hard to recognize. She placed her hand on his shoulder and nudged him gently. “Miguel?” she whispered.

            “Huh?” he said sleepily.

            “Wake up and tell me I’m not dreaming.”

            He jerked awake and stared at her a full two seconds before he extended his gaze around the room and at the bed. “What’s going on?”

            This was awkward. What was she supposed to say? _I know we’re not that close, but wanna father my baby?_ She still couldn’t believe she’d escaped the foot whipping. “Um, Miguel, if that madman gave you the chance to take my place in the torture chamber, would you do it?”

            He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

            How could she not be attracted to him? She drew another breath and continued. “And what if he said you could avert it some other way, doing something less painful?”

            He stood and looked down at her. “What are you talking about?”

            Was there any point to beating around the bush? She looked down at the soft, clean linens covering the feather mattress and spoke quietly. “He gave me a choice. He said if I chose a _mate_ , he would spare me the foot whipping. I didn’t really believe he would do it. But here we are.” She looked up to gauge his reaction.

            Miguel’s eye’s widened and he backed up a step. “A m-mate?”

            Lonnie looked back down and nodded silently. She’d kissed him in a public area once, without his consent, and he hadn’t appreciated it. Now she was pressuring him to father her child. He had to abhor her. She felt tears forming. “I’m sorry.”

            He rounded the bed and sat beside her, taking her hand in his. “Hey, this isn’t your fault. You did the right thing.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back.

            Relief washed over her. She looked into his eyes. “Really?”

            He nodded and smiled at her with a reassuring gaze. “Really.” He let go of her hand to put his arm around her and she tucked her shoulder under his chin. The tears she’d tried to hold back spilled out, but there were tears of joy mingled with the pain. At least she had the comfort of his embrace for this moment. He wiped her tears with a gentle finger. When she’d regained a little composure, he whispered, “I have a message for you from Dr. Smith.”

            “When did you get to talk to her?”

            “During her beating. She tried to tell you directly, but your wall was sound­proof, so she couldn’t. She told us all. It didn’t make any sense at the time, but I get it now.”

            Wendy probably hadn’t had the same opportunity to escape her torture. Just like the men, she’d had no choice. But she had scanned his mind and knew what he planned for Lonnie.

            Miguel continued, “She wanted someone to tell you that he’s planning to use accelerated growth technology. He will age our baby so he can torture it in front of us.”

            “ _Our_ baby?”

            “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

            “You’re willing to go through with this?”

            “I’ll do whatever I have to, to keep him from hurting you. I promise.” He looked around the room suspiciously and lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. “But let’s see if we can put it off as long as possible. The cavalry is coming.”

            “Cavalry?” she whispered back.

            He shook his head, declining to elaborate, but she understood. All the cells were bugged and that madman had to be watching them. She would just have to trust him. She looked back into his eyes, trying to communicate her trust without words. “Thank you,” she whispered.

            He smiled. “Any time.”

            “So what’s next?”

            His smile became a mischievous grin. He winked. When he spoke, it was with a volume even louder than his bridge-reporting voice, and he wasn’t looking at her. “I don’t know about you, but I think it’d be a shame for us to mess up these nice clean sheets with our grime. I haven’t had a shower in a month and you don’t smell so hot either.” He stared pointedly at the ventilation grate. “What do you say, Frenchie? You really don’t expect us to get close when we stink, do you? How about some showers? Maybe a shave and a toothbrush?”

            “And shampoo!” she added.

            Miguel nodded emphatically. He had more hair than she did, so he probably needed it more. It was a testament to their sorry state that Lonnie was giddy over the prospect of a simple shower. Did she dare hope?

            The speaker crackled with static. “I will consider your request, but you would do well not to try my patience, Monsieur Ortiz.”


	18. Chapter 18

            François Beauregard sat back in his French Provincial chair and drummed spidery fingers atop the chair arm. Why the lovely mademoi­selle would choose that coarse Cuban mongrel was a mystery, but then again, weren’t all women? He had spared her feet, doubled her living space, and provided a feather bed fit for a queen. The male runt had even been informed what was expected of him, but rather than showing gratitude for this generosity, he’d had the gall to ask for a shower.

            Perhaps these twenty-first century sailors were so ignorant of history they were unaware how ridiculous such a request was in their present surroundings. No one in the world had indoor plumbing, water heaters, or dry ion technology. They were extremely fortunate he’d brought hypomicrobial toilets from the future to install in their cells. _Ingrates_. He should beat them both for being coddled milksops.

            However, they did seem close to compliance and the request, while presumptuous and ungrateful, was a product of their socialization. They’d probably never gone more than three days without bathing in their entire lives.

            Beauregard could cross the bay to Marseille and pluck up countless peasants who would have killed to be allowed to trade places with these two spoiled submariners, but he’d grown tired of the weak and defeatist masses of the Old World. That was why he’d gone to the trouble of trapping the _seaQuest_. Twenty-first century soldiers were much feistier and more spirited. It was a chal­lenge to break them and therefore much more satisfying. But this was one of the drawbacks: they took much for granted.

            So how would he meet this perceived “need” well enough to keep his breeding stock placated into doing what he wished? He looked around his control room, glancing at the projected images from each cell to see what the rest of his stock were doing. Predictably, most of them were still asleep. They’d all been gassed at dawn, before their daily rations were delivered, but that should have worn off by now. Only the young Wolenczak and a few of the officers were in any condition to move without pain. Beauregard was quite content to let them rest and heal for the present. He had plans for them all and the sooner they were healed, the sooner he could implement his plans.

            A sly grin wended over his lips as an idea seeped into his mind. He studied his console of controls and flipped switches. The two walls in front of the breeding chamber were made one-way so anyone could see in, but Monsieur Ortiz and Mademoiselle Henderson would only see solid walls. Then he did the opposite with everyone else’s center-facing walls, making them invisible from the inside toward the center only. The nine spectators would each have the illusion of being the only witness.

            He expanded both the windows in the breeding chamber to take advantage of the natural light, spotlighting the stage for this scene. He dimmed the lights in the center theater and solidified all the other windows so the spectators would have no competing light. Their cells would be almost as dark as night.

            Beauregard eliminated sound transfer between the walls. He would listen himself, of course, and he could always activate the speakers and control who heard what. He didn’t really expect the spectators would need sound. Sight alone would work quite nicely. He pressed buttons, activating his microphone so his voice would be heard in the cells of the nine spectators, but keeping out all feedback so none of their backtalk could be heard by anyone but him. He wanted each of them to think he was granting a special privilege, and speaking to just one cell instead of all nine at once.

            “Bonjour. You might wish to observe Mademoiselle ’Enderson’s welcome ritual, as it is quite a departure from the norm. Not as exciting as your own perform­ance, no doubt, but possibly more interesting than staring at the walls.”

            There were retorts ranging from questions ( _What are you going to do to her?_ ) to threats ( _Hurt her and I’ll kill you._ ) to grumpy retaliations for disturbing their sleep ( _Just leave me alone_.) but most said nothing at all as they raised their heads and moved to get a better look at the illuminated and expanded cell where their two fellow prisoners sat on what had to be a most envied piece of furniture. A few of the spectators tried to call out, and when that had no effect, to gesture wildly in futile effort to capture attention. But the two young breeders were utterly oblivious to anyone watching.

            Beauregard switched off the microphone to the spectator cells and activated the one to the breeding chamber. “I ’ave decided to grant your request, Monsieur Ortiz. Move the bed to one side.”

            The pair of lovebirds stared at each other as if they didn’t understand such a simple order. For all his accolades in the history books, Monsieur Bridger certainly ran a lax boat. “Now!” he shouted, making them both jump. “I must replace the wall between the two original cells.”

            This explanation seemed to spur them forward and the two of them pushed the bed toward Monsieur Wolenczak’s shared wall.

            Beauregard couldn’t help but grin. “Now remove your dirty clothing and leave it on the empty side.”

            “What are we supposed to wear in the meantime?” the female asked.

            He cackled. “What do you normally wear when you bathe, Mademoiselle?”

            Of course, she had no answer for him.

            The male grabbed a blanket from the bed and held it up like a privacy screen. Beauregard stifled a laugh. She turned her back to the blanket and disrobed right in front of the wall, which she didn’t know was invisible to her fellow crewmates. Almost as comical was the way most of them averted their eyes, even though it was abundantly clear she couldn’t see them. _Boatload of prudes_.

            She wrapped herself in the blanket and deposited her dirty clothes on the empty side of the room. She tried to secure her wrap so she had a free hand to perform the same curtain function for the male, but she couldn’t manage it.

            “It’s okay,” Monsieur Ortiz said. “I trust you.”

            She nodded and turned her back. The male removed his clothes facing the back wall, so it wasn’t quite as interesting for the voyeurs, but there was still plenty of time. He dumped his wad of dirty clothes on top of hers, then joined the girl beside the bed, the two of them glaring at the ceiling. Beauregard always found it humorous because the speaker was in the ceiling everyone thought that was his vantage point. He could manipulate the substance of the walls so he could see anywhere he wanted, at any angle. He wasn’t limited to looking through the grate.

            He rematerialized the dividing wall, leaving out the shelf beds, and then dissolved the wall which separated the empty section from the center theater. Then he left the control room to give instructions to his lackeys. The grunts would transport the porcelain bathing tub from his quarters to the open cell while his cook boiled two huge pots of water. The men could haul a few buckets of cold water after the tub was placed, and by the time all that was done, the hot water should be ready.

            Beauregard watched the progress from his control room, monitoring the other prisoners at the same time. No one went back to sleep. They all watched as the tub was delivered, probably with great envy. No more than thirty minutes later, there was a tubful of lukewarm water ready. He retrieved a ball of locally-made soap from the kitchen and a couple of towels from the laundry, and then deposited these magnanimous gifts beside the tub, grabbed their dirty clothes, and returned to his control room. He rematerialized the wall between the tub and the theater, making sure it was configured with one-way translucency. Then he dissolved the wall where the bed stood earlier, returning access to the doubled cell back to his breeding pair. _There better not be any more excuses now._

He watched as the blanket-wrapped female and bedsheet-clad male approached the tub slowly.

            “Miguel… there’s no shower curtain.”

            _Mon Dieu, am I breeding morons?_

The male shrugged and looked back at her with a sheepish grin. “Well, since it’s not exactly a shower, we can’t very well complain about that, can we? I’ll turn my back. It’ll be fine.”

            Mademoiselle Prude didn’t appear very grateful. She stood there, shaking her head.

            “Come on, Lonnie, it’s better than nothing. If you don’t want the first turn, I’ll take it.”

            “No, you’re right.” She tested the water with one finger. “I’ll try to be fast so it’ll still be warm for you.”

            Monsieur Ortiz moved the bed back toward the center of the cell and sat on the feather mattress with his back turned. Mademoiselle Henderson looked around the room, her eyes lingering on the ceiling.

            “Miguel, what if that Frenchman is watching? Would you mind…?”

            “Oh, right.” He jumped up from the bed and tied his bedsheet into a toga. He stared at the girl a moment. “I can’t hold it with my back turned. I’ll close my eyes and you hand me the blanket, okay?”

            “Why? Can’t you stand the sight of me? We’re adults and you said you agreed to… _you know_. I’d rather have _you_ looking than that lunatic.”

            Beauregard laughed. Between himself and the nine other prisoners, there would be ten people watching her straight through the wall she was ignoring while this idiot Cuban stood, holding up a blanket that blocked the view for no one. Poor sap.

            Monsieur Ortiz grinned and waggled his brows in a suggestive fashion. For the first time, Beauregard felt hope they might actually conceive. Mademoiselle Henderson looked her mate in the eye while she let the blanket drop from her shoulders. She held the blanket away from her body, but didn’t extend her arms. He had to take a step closer to accept it and when he did, she drew him toward her and kissed him full on the lips.

            _Definitely hope for a child._

            She let go, giving him the freedom to break the kiss at his pleasure. They lingered a moment, then he staggered back, blinking and shaking his head as if he didn’t believe what had just happened. “Uh…don’t want that water to get too hot, now,” he stammered as he quickly shoved the blanket above his line of sight.

            Monsieur Brody whistled at the kiss. _Was he jealous or just a grateful voyeur?_ MessieursBridger, Ford, and O’Neill turned not only their heads, but their entire bodies away from the scene. Disappointed with the audience’s lack of apprecia­tion for the show, Beauregard switched all the walls except Brody’s back to solid.

            Mademoiselle Henderson washed quickly, but grumbled about the lack of shampoo.

            “What did people do before shampoo was invented?” Ortiz asked.

            She sighed and shrugged. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered. Then she lathered the soap ball in her hands and used the lather to wash her hair. From the way she looked around when she finished, she must have realized too late the only water she had to rinse with was already soapy and dirty from washing her body, but she didn’t admit her stupidity to her mate. She lay back and rinsed her head in the tub and then stood. “Could you hand me the towel?”

            “Uh, sure,” he said shakily. He held the blanket in one hand and picked up a towel with the other. With his eyes closed, he offered the towel about a foot to her left. “Don’t think this is because I can’t stand the sight of you. I…uh…just want to get clean first and if I look again, I might not be able to do that.”

            She dried her face while he spoke, smiling behind the towel. Then she snapped the towel near his toga-covered hip. “Oh yes you will. I’m not getting near you as long as you stink like that.”

            He yelped, “Ow!” even though it was apparent the towel hadn’t come in contact with his skin at all.

            Beauregard resisted the urge to roll his eyes at their juvenile foreplay. At least he thought it was foreplay.

            Monsieur Ortiz bathed as quickly as the female had. After his bath, the two breeders wrapped themselves up in bed linens again and sat side-by-side on the bed. They chatted about the most inane subjects for what seemed hours. _Have they forgot­ten what they’re supposed to be doing?_ With the press of a button, both windows blinked out of existence and the cell was thrown into total darkness. He could see with infrared lighting if he cared to, but the scene was too boring to even bother.

            “Hey!” the two shouted in unison.

            He activated the speaker. “Remember, Mademoiselle, our arrange­ment is for _conception_ , not chit-chat.” Frustrated, he punched all the displays off, returned the walls to normal, and stormed out of the room.

            Beauregard checked back every few hours, and while his breeding pair did spend some time together under the covers, he wasn’t very impressed with any of his recorded footage. The next morning while they were out cold for rations delivery, he retrieved his tub and took a blood sample from the female. It came back negative for pregnancy hormones. He’d made sure she was near the peak of her fertility when her turn came, so this shouldn’t be difficult unless the male was impotent. However, it was possible they were not acting in good faith on the bargain.

            _They need to be reminded I am not playing games here_.

            He sat in his control room and steepled his fingers while he plotted. The little bed and bath scene had been improvised on the spot, and as a result, had bombed with the audience. The next performance had to be more elaborate, preferably even more dramatic than the whippings had been. There had to be more at stake than just a bit of pain and blood loss. He grinned to himself as he decided how best to accomplish several goals at once. He wanted fear and intimidation for the breeders with a side dish of heavy guilt delivered to Monsieur Wolenczak. By extension, any guilt the boy suffered would induce pain in Bridger as well.

            He would force the teen to choose who would suffer a threatened torture. Messieurs Ford and Brody would do nicely for the choice since they had provoked fairly strong reactions in Wolenczak during the EEG. The only question was: was he ready to permanently maim Ford and/or Brody for this grand performance?

            He had two females and nine males. Certainly he could afford to damage two of the males. The show should spur the breeders to attend to their obligation with all due diligence. Then again, if the Cuban runt proved sterile, Mademoiselle Henderson would have to choose someone else and it seemed a shame to eliminate the highest-ranking young men from her list of possibilities. Brody had seemed especially interested.

            Beauregard decided he wouldn’t maim anyone…yet. Instead, he’d orches­trate an illusion. After all their beatings, none would doubt his lust for blood and lack of mercy. None would guess he wasn’t doing exactly what he appeared to be doing. He would arrange it so not even Brody and Ford would be able to tell it was an illusion until after they were off stage. He went to work, ordering his grunts to transport several large boxes from the basement to the center theater.

            He spent six hours assembling three guillotines. Two of them had been pur­chased from suppliers to professional magicians from his own time and the third one was a working replica of the trick models. All three looked identical. He set the real one at center stage, with a watermelon to use for demonstration. There was something about the blade dropping and the crack of the fruit as it rended apart that struck fear into the hearts of everyone watching. The nice red flesh was a fortunate bonus.

            He made sure he was alone with all walls solid when he tested the illusory models. They looked and sounded exactly like the working model, except their blades only _appeared_ to slice the target. The trick guillotines were placed on horizontal platforms which were angled in a wide v-shape. Messieurs Brody and Ford would have a very good view of the working guillotine without obscuring any of the spectators. The stage was set so the best view belonged to Monsieur Wolenczak.

            The next step was trickier. He gassed Brody and Ford with a heavier-than-usual dose of gas and secured them on their platforms by their wrists, ankles and knees. Their audience-facing thighs were positioned inside the guillotines. The threatened amputation would be the right leg above the knee.

            Beauregard taped a piece of copper wire to the skin around the thigh where the blade would appear to cut. The tape and wire would feel just like the guillo­tine’s frame, holding the leg secure. The wire could be heated instantaneously so that the circumference of skin would burn and cause considerable pain in the proper place. With the blade dropping and accompanying pain at just the right moment, they’d believe they’d lost a leg. However, their probable cries of agony were not quite enough. He was proposing to sever the femoral artery. There had to be blood.

            He used two hypodermics to draw enough blood from each of them to make a convincing display. They might feel the venipuncture site when they first awoke, but a tiny sting on their inner elbows would be minor compared to their predicament. He filled small exploding ampules he’d purchased from theatrical supply company. These were meant to be used with fake blood for motion pic­tures and stage plays, but with just a bit of anti-coagulant they worked even better with the real thing.

            He placed the ampules strategically around the thighs, making sure they were well hidden by uniform pockets or guillotine framework. They had to be invisible to the victims as well as their more distant audience. The ampules and wires were both rigged to activate when the blade dropped into its safety slot. He would trigger the guillotines remotely himself.

            When the stage was set, he turned out the lights and left the room. It was time to prepare the audience. He flipped the switches to gas the correct cells and then told his two grunts to secure them all as usual. The featherbed in the breeding chamber had to be rotated so it didn’t block the view from the chairs, but besides that, the whole operation had become routine.

            The nine spectators were soon ready. The walls between the cells and the theater were all configured to smoky-translucency without sound. Microphones from the theater would transmit the cries of the victims but he would wait to turn on the sound until the decision was made.

            Beauregard settled into his control room and waited. The cells and the theater were all left pitch black until he detected waking breathing patterns and muscle movements from each of them. He wanted everyone to see the guillotines at the same time. When he was certain everyone was conscious, he flooded the theater with light.

            Messieurs Brody and Ford struggled against their restraints even as they took in the scene. Eyes grew wide with recognition. Then they surveyed their surroundings.

            “Can anybody hear me?” Brody shouted.

            “I can,” Ford replied. “But it looks like the cells are soundproofed.”

            Beauregard set his microphone to speak to everyone. “Bonjour, my pets. Today I ’ave arranged a demonstration of a most ’istoric device: the guillotine. No doubt this device is already familiar to you from ’istory, but you may not ’ave ’ad the opportunity before now to see one at work.” He pressed the button which controlled the display model and the heavy blade dropped down, the edges swishing against the tracks on the tall frame and then a chop and crack sounded when the watermelon sliced cleanly in half. Brody and Ford both jumped.

            “Granted, a piece of fruit offers very little resistance, but these devices ’ave been used for centuries to remove the ’eads from bodies, so they can cut bone and muscle quite well, I assure you. Being the magnanimous ’ost I am, I ’ave decided _not_ to remove any ’eads today. Instead, my little demonstration will be a simple leg—a bit of flesh and a femur. Monsieur Wolenczak will select who becomes our example.”

            Beauregard silenced all the speakers except his direct line to Wolenczak’s cell. “You, Monsieur, and you alone, will decide which of the two will lose ’is right leg. Choose.”

            He cut off the mic and listened. Brody and Ford were both yelling desper­ately, trying to convince the young man to choose himself and spare the other, but no one could appreciate their self-sacrificial pleas without sound. They simply appeared hysterical. Beauregard was pretty sure of the outcome already. Wolenczak would refuse to make any choice at all. Assuming he was correct, he would send _both_ guillotine blades down.

            After five seconds of total silence, he spoke again. “You ’ave ten seconds, Monsieur. Their fate lies in your hands. Choose.”


	19. Chapter 19

            When the supply shuttle from _seaQuest_ docked with _MR-3,_ they transferred 37 drums of fuel, two ground assault guys (one with medic training), five boxes of MREs, and two cases of fish on dry ice. Tony recognized an immediate problem and radioed Kendall.

            “There’s no place left to sit, Chief!”

            “Send the helmsman and navigator back. Between you, Nichols, and Tate, you should be able to pilot _MR-3_. It’s almost all open sea and there’s nothing below the surface to worry about.”

            “That’s still four men, 37 drums of fuel, five boxes of food, and a portable saltwater tank holding our dolphin captain! This shuttle is already overloaded and we have eleven missing crew members who may be injured. How are we all going to get back?”

            “We don’t have enough fuel for another shuttle, Piccolo.”

            Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Kendall didn’t pause long enough and Tony stifled his urge in favor of letting the executive officer speak.

            “I recognized this would be a problem the minute you told me where you wanted to go. We’re already on it.”

            “What are you doing, building a refinery?”

            “Hey, no one’s missing from engineering and we have the finest scientists in the world tripping over each other to help us out. Most of them are ecstatic to be doing something besides counting plankton in test tubes.”

            Forrester was standing right behind Tony in the very crowded forward section. He leaned over and spoke from behind Tony’s shoulder. “Kendall, this is Dr. Forrester. Do you want me to come back to _seaQuest_ or stay here?”

            “Do you have any sailing experience? A yacht back home maybe?”

            “Negative. I get seasick.”

            The Navy guys all laughed at this.

            “Then you may as well stay there with Darwin. We don’t need you here and one seat isn’t enough to matter.”

            “Sailing?” Tony blurted out. “What are you guys gonna do, become pirates and commandeer one of those antique wooden tubs?”

            Kendall laughed. “Give me a little credit, Piccolo. First off, we dredged up enough treasure from sunken ships in the Black Sea to buy anything we could possibly want, so we don’t have to resort to piracy. And second off, you ought to know scientists and engineers are not going to settle for anything but state of the art, except when we have to.”

            “‘ _When_ we have to’? Funny you should put it that way when we’re in the past.”

            “Just leave transportation to me, okay?”

            Tony shrugged and shook his head. “Aye, aye, Chief. _MR-3_ out.”

            It was very cramped, but everyone took turns sponging Darwin, eating, and sleeping. Everyone but Forrester rotated on the helm. It was almost too easy when you didn’t have to worry about anyone else in the whole darn sea. No colonies, no subs, and not even a remote possibility of mines or torpedoes. Tony had half a mind to play around with the joystick, but if anyone puked in these close quarters, they’d all kill him. It probably wasn’t a good idea to upset the dolphin tank either. Water all over the place would be messy, not to mention, agitating to the Acting Captain. He held off on the underwater acrobatics.

            Forrester insisted they stop every twelve hours to change the water in Darwin’s tank.

            “What for?” Tony asked. It was quite a pain to get around the maze of fuel drums, lug the tank out the door, and then lift it back up to get it onboard after it was full again.

            “Do you see a porta-potty in there, Piccolo?”

            “Um…no.” _Hadn’t thought of that_. He raised both hands to halt any more explanation. “Gotcha. Dolphin Hygiene 101.” At least Darwin breathed air and not water, but Tony wouldn’t want to be soaking in his own wastes either. And at least changing the water gave Darwin some time to swim in the open sea.

            They always asked Darwin if he wanted to swim longer, but he seemed to understand his swim time slowed them down. He came on his own when the tank was ready and he said, “No more swim. Ride to If.”

            “We _are_ going to If. You believe us, don’t you?”

            “Yes. If getting closer.”

            Tony leaned in to Forrester and whispered, “How does he know that?”

            “I have no idea. He felt sure he knew how to get there from the Aegean and now we’re in the Ionian. Maybe they taste different or something. How he can tell we’re going the right way, I can’t imagine. But like you said, just because we don’t understand it, doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Dolphins are expert navigators. I wouldn’t bet against him to get us anywhere on the planet as long as it was reachable by saltwater.”

            “Even if he’s never been there before?”

            Forrester laughed. “He’s been with _seaQuest_ for over two years. Where has he _not_ been?”

            “Yeah, you got a point there. But he can’t know every stinkin’ little island. He goes out for a swim, snacks on some fish, and comes back to the moon pool to play bite-the-sponge-basketball with Lucas. _SeaQuest_ never stays in one place long enough to explore.”

            “Well, maybe we’re back to how he knows where this island is where our crew is. He says O’Neill called him somehow, so maybe _he_ told him where it was.”

            Tony nodded. That made sense. Tim had been a submariner since before the UEO and he always had his nose in a book, even in his spare time. Having Lucas and Tim in the same room was like having a whole library on tap. But Tony didn’t want to start thinking about the crew. Darwin said they were hurt and they were still so far away. Dwelling on it when they were powerless to get there any faster just made him depressed.

            The marine biologist gave him a quick pat on the back. “We’re going to get there in time, Tony. Try not to worry.”

            Tony shrugged it off like it had been the farthest thing from his mind, but it did rattle him a little that Forrester had seen through him so well. _Gotta work on my poker face_. “Uh, whose turn is it on sponge duty?”

            “Yours,” Forrester, Nichols, and Tate chorused.


	20. Chapter 20

            “Why are you doing this to us?” Lucas shouted. He’d hoped once everyone had their welcoming beating, they would be left to rot in peace. While wasting away alone in these tiny cells was mind-numbing and miserable, it was better than torture.

            He hadn’t lost hope. His Darwin dreams were more frequent and more vivid now. Tony and the vocorder had appeared, Darwin’s electronic voice saying, “Darwin find friends,” and Tony saying in his own voice, “Hold on, guys, we’re coming.” And whether Lucas believed it solely because he wanted to, or because his logic really did find a shred of possibility it could be true, he couldn’t say. But he _did_ believe it. Somehow, some way, Darwin and Tony were going to help them.

            But not within the next ten seconds. That was how long he had before this madman was going to chop off the right leg of either Commander Ford or Lieutenant Brody. As if that wasn’t horrible enough, Lucas had been given the impossible task of deciding whose it would be. Both men had abject fear written on their faces, their eyes wide and darting around frantically. Their lips moved quickly, mouths opened broadly, suggesting panicked screaming. Lucas wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what they were trying to say. It couldn’t be pleasant.

            Then again, he couldn’t imagine why Scratchy Voice didn’t _force_ him to listen. Everything the Frenchman did was designed solely to cause fear, pain, and misery. Perhaps it was an oversight. Lucas tried to file that possibility away in his mind to analyze later. He still hadn’t found any mistakes or weaknesses they could exploit, either in their captor’s methods or the prison’s security. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.

            He’d saved a meager ration of grapes in hopes of finding a way to make wine vinegar (an acid he could use to test the properties of the metallic stone), but he never found a way to keep the air out of his juice, so the grapes ended up raisins before he ever got the chance to squeeze them. He tried not to feel badly about it. Surely Darwin and Tony were going to get them out of here before grape juice had a chance to ferment into wine and then vinegar. Lucas just hated the feeling of helplessness, of doing nothing while days turned into weeks.

            But now, all those days and weeks meant nothing because his whole life seemed to be converging on the ten-second deadline he’d been given to decide the fate of the second- and third-highest ranking officers from _seaQuest_. Both men were his friends, maybe not his closest friends, but close enough he couldn’t stand the thought of either of them losing so much as a pinky toe, much less a whole leg.

            Whomever he picked would know he had been the one to doom his leg to the guillotine. If they lived long enough to ever be rescued, how could he ever face the man he’d decreed maimed? Worse, would Captain Bridger hate him for choosing the wrong one? The captain found them both extremely valuable, probably irreplaceable. Lucas wasn’t just deciding who lost a leg, but who lost a career and a home on _seaQuest_. That was assuming the leg-severing didn’t outright _kill_ the man. Lucas knew enough about anatomy to realize this was danger­ous. The femoral artery could empty the whole body of blood in a matter of seconds. Sending Lonnie in afterwards with a little antiseptic wasn’t going to cut it. If the victim didn’t get decent medical attention, he could easily die.

            Scratchy Voice said, “ _Maintenant_ , Monsieur Wolenczak. Your time is up.”

            Lucas looked up at Ford and Brody one more time, but seeing their desperate faces and terrified eyes was just too much. These were the strongest, bravest men he knew. _I can’t be responsible for this. I can’t sentence one of them to possible death_. He cleared his throat with difficulty. “No. You free them both or leave me out of it.”

            “I gave you the power to spare one, but since you ’ave chosen to spurn that gift, they both lose.” The speaker clicked once and Lucas heard Brody’s and Ford’s voices overlapping frantically and incoherently.

            Before Lucas could protest against the Frenchman’s declaration, both guillotine blades slid swiftly down their wooden tracks, the friction barely slowing the 32-feet-per-second-squared acceleration. The teen’s jaw dropped, but no sound escaped for several split-seconds of horrified shock and then his “No!” drowned in the simultaneous thudding chops and blood-curdling screams of two men struggling against their unyielding restraints, faces wrenched in unimaginable pain.

            Lucas couldn’t stand to look at their tortured faces, but the crashed blades and bloody uniforms weren’t much better. Tears flooded Lucas’s eyes and he broke down. His wrists were clamped tight in the arms of his observation chair. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t bury his face in his hands. Although he would be first to admit his sense of time was impaired, he didn’t think he saw Ford and Brody for more than five seconds before the entire theater went dark and the speakers silenced abruptly. In another few seconds, the wall be­tween his cell and the theater rematerialized and the restraints on his wrists and ankles dissolved. Sobbing, he drew his legs up to his chest, curled into a fetal position and shrank into the corner of the chair.

            He knew that bastard Frenchman was watching, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have the emotional strength to hold back his crying. He couldn’t stop thinking about Brody and Ford and his mind wouldn’t stop replaying their screams. Would they live? Would they hate him?

            _None of this is **my** fault_ , he kept reminding himself. Surely both of them would realize that, wouldn’t they? He couldn’t banish the thread of guilt gnawing at him. Asking him to make that choice was wrong, but it didn’t change the inescapable reality—being sanctimonious had doubled the amount of suffering. Had he spit out a name, one of those men would still have a leg. Yet, even in retrospect, even knowing the consequences, he couldn’t decide which one he should have chosen.

            Lucas cried until his head pounded. He felt drained and weak. He wished he had a sink so he could splash water on his face. Instead, he decided to grab a bite of food and move around a little. When he opened his eyes to look around, he found the room lighter than before. The window was there again, but the light coming through was dim, like moonlight. He passed his long sleeve over his wet eyes to dry the tears and then he caught a glimpse of the wall by his bed.

            It was smoky-translucent and Captain Bridger sat on the facing bed, watch­ing him. He couldn’t believe it at first. He’d wanted this for so long, and he’d exhausted himself with crying. He had to be dreaming. The moment their eyes met, he knew it wasn’t a one-way glass. Lucas surged toward the wall and pressed his body against it, as if he could somehow will it to dematerialize.

            The captain’s face looked like it had aged ten years, but his eyes were full of love and concern. He smiled at Lucas and placed his palm against the wall. Lucas mirrored his action. For a while, they both just stared at each other. The captain’s eyes grew glossy and tears spilled out, dribbling down his cheek and disappearing into his long and scraggly beard. Lucas renewed his own tears, but he was trying harder to restrain them than when he thought he was alone. He wiped them with his sleeve every few seconds.

            The captain didn’t try to hide his tears or wipe them away. Since they couldn’t talk, he had to let his body language and actions speak. And to Lucas, the message was loud and clear. There wasn’t even a microgram of blame or the mildest hint of reproach. Brody and Ford might hate him, and he couldn’t blame them if they did, but Captain Bridger was so completely on his side, Lucas felt guilty for even having doubts.

            When Lucas had collected himself, the captain winked and mouthed, “Love you, kiddo.”

            Lucas mouthed back, “I love you, too, Captain.”

            The older man said something else, but Lucas wasn’t able to read his lips. _Damn this stupid wall!_ Why couldn’t that madman let them share a cell like he was letting Henderson and Ortiz share? Lucas didn’t want the bathtub or the bed, just a way to talk and touch again. He shook his head to indicate he hadn’t been able to lip-read the silent message.

            Suddenly, the captain’s eyes lit up. He had an idea. He freed the hand he’d pressed against the wall and started using sign language. Lucas had studied all the signs he’d taught Darwin. It had come in handy on occasions when they didn’t have a vocorder and it had helped Lucas design the language base. Unfortunately, Darwin had an even smaller ‘vocabulary’ of signs than of words, and Lucas hadn’t bothered to learn any more than what Darwin knew. Right now he regretted it.

            _Dolphin. Come. Help. Hold_.

            Lucas wondered whether the captain knew more signs than what he’d taught Darwin. It didn’t look like it. At least this message made a lot more sense than trying to read lips. Darwin was coming to help, so hold on. Lucas smiled and nodded. “Same dream,” he mouthed.

            The captain started to sign something else, but the wall suddenly reverted back to solid. Lucas blinked at the metallic stone, then he pounded on the wall with both fists. “No!” he yelled.

            He resisted the urge to beg for visiting privileges. If Scratchy Voice knew how much this had meant to him, he’d never allow it again. Lucas tried to act like he was just mildly disappointed. He turned on his knees and sat with his back to the wall, leaning his head against it, grinning at the irony. That lunatic must have thought they could plan some elaborate escape using twenty words’ worth of dolphin commands. This time, the joke was on Frenchie.


	21. Chapter 21

            When Tony wasn’t sleeping, sponging Darwin, piloting the shuttle, or doing the tank flush, he sat on a tiny section of bench, competing for space with supply boxes stacked to his eyeballs. Thus crowded and isolated, he glued himself to a nine-inch portable computer unit Kendall had sent. The chief had transferred every bit of information about If Island _seaQuest_ had in internal memory to this portable computer, so they could get familiar with the area they were heading to. Nichols and Tate had already read all the files while traveling between the Black Sea and the Aegean, before the rendezvous. Now it was Tony’s turn.

            He wasn’t usually the studying type, but beyond the fact this was an order and he really didn’t have a choice, he had to admit it was probably a good idea. If he was gonna try to rescue Captain Bridger, Commander Ford, his genius roomie, and all the other bridge crew, with only two groundpounders, a science geek, and a dolphin on his side, he had better bone up.

            Thank goodness the unit had a synthesized voice and a headphone jack. He could look at the maps, photographs, and other graphics, but he didn’t have to rely on his fourth-grade reading skills to get through the mountain of text. And he didn’t have to broad­cast what he was doing either. If anyone asked why he had a headset on, he could say he was listening to music. It would take him longer to digest all the material than the others had taken, but it would be faster than trying to read it himself, and probably more successful. Besides, the trip was going to take at least three more days, maybe more if the currents didn’t cooperate.

            There was nothing else to do anyhow. With someone always driving and someone else always sleeping (they only had enough space for one person to lie down at a time), the only way they could play poker was to get Darwin to be the third and so far, he couldn’t hold the cards or grasp the concept of betting, but that wasn’t to say Tony hadn’t tried to explain it while on sponge duty. Maybe he should have started with “Go Fish”. He’d think about that if he ever got through all the If Island files.

            Most of the information was pretty dull and he had to fight to stay awake while the computer voice droned on and on about topographical features, indigenous plants, and weather patterns. He did try to pay extra attention to the history, since he knew they were somewhere in the past. He finally got a look at Château d’If, complete with a label that made his brows crinkle at the incomprehensible spelling. _Good thing this gadget has a reader_. He was rather distressed to learn no one had ever successfully escaped Château d’If besides the fictional Edmond Dantès. So they probably weren’t going to get as lucky as he got back in the Amazonian Confederation, when he took a prison wall apart with his bare fingers. Still, he was glad the files included schematics of the place. They had better weapons now than had been available during the time the château had been in use.

            His mind wandered a little while he studied, but, surprisingly, he wasn’t thinking about babes or shore leave. He got to thinking about why anyone would kidnap the bridge crew and then transport them thousands of miles from where the sub was. If it was just to get them out of the way, why hadn’t the kidnapper come back for the _seaQuest_? One guy with a submarine could rule the entire world in primitive times such as this. The _seaQuest_ could obliterate an armada in mere minutes and nobody would even know what hit them. Controlling the oceans when there were no trains, planes, or trucks would mean controlling almost all travel and commerce.

            So why was _seaQuest_ stuck in an inland sea, but basically unthreatened, while its bridge crew was being held on some podunk island? The only motive he could imagine was brainwashing the crew to do the kidnapper’s bidding. A chill ran up his spine at the thought of anyone trying to brainwash strong-willed, dyed-in-the-wool Navy guys like Ford and Brody. _Fat chance_.

            Of course, he wasn’t even sure the bridge crew was actually being held in the prison. For all he knew, they’d just been abandoned on the island with no way off. Darwin said they were all injured, so that precluded swimming the one-mile channel back to France. Tony tried to imagine how they might be so incapaci­tated that no one had been able to go for help, yet still not be dead by now. If they were dead, would Darwin know?

            It was possible someone _had_ gone for help, wasn’t it? Someone like Ortiz could blend in with the populace in the Mediterranean area. Assuming he wasn’t hurt too badly, he could swim the mile to France, but then what? Even if he found someone who could speak English or Spanish, what would he say? Was there an equivalent to the Pony Express yet? How long would it take Ortiz personally to get back to the Black Sea by land or on one of these sailing slugs? Tony shook his head. Although there was no way they could know help was on the way, Tony really hoped they hadn’t split up. It would be too hard to find someone on land without a radio or GPS.

            Wait, Darwin had said “If Miguel”. Unless Darwin didn’t know what he was talking about (in which case they were all pretty much screwed) then Miguel was there with Tim, Lucas, Bridger, and Wendy. This made Tony feel slightly better. Sure, Henderson or one of the other guys _could have_ gone for help, but probably only if all the officers were unconscious and therefore unable to stop them. _One thing at a time, Piccolo,_ he admonished himself _. Find the island first and then worry about who isn’t there._

If he rescued Lucas, O’Neill, Ford, and Bridger, _they_ could figure out how to rescue anyone else. And right after they got every­one back to _seaQuest_ , the smart guys would figure out how to get home, to their own time. Even in this sardine can he was stuck in, the strategy sounded good. Not that it mattered. They didn’t have a Plan B.


	22. Chapter 22

            Wendy sat in her stone chair, weeping. Her restraints had vanished long ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to try to move. It had taken her many hours to get from her bed to the toilet, and the pain of every step had been excruciating. After that first trip, she didn’t return to the bed. It was just too far. She lay on the floor, which was no less comfortable. It kept her closer to the toilet and closer to the shelf where her food appeared. She was cold without the blanket over her body or the pillow to insulate her cheek, but not cold enough to attempt to stand again. Whoever delivered her food had taken pity on her and left rations on the floor, along with the pillow and blanket the next day. She’d wondered whether it could be someone other than Hans, Frans, or Beauregard, and whether showing her such kindness would invite consequences.

            After her foot whipping, Beauregard had only waited one day before giving Lonnie her choice. Wendy had watched from the floor as Lonnie and Miguel were given a real bed and bathtub. _I could have had that_ , she thought wistfully. While she didn’t really like the idea of bathing while others watched, she was able to sense most of the crew were minding their manners. Even Brody, who gazed with more appreciation than lust, had eventually felt guilty enough to look away. Beauregard had become frustrated with the crew’s lack of voyeurism and Wendy took some satisfaction in that.

            She couldn’t tell whether Lonnie really intended to get pregnant or not, but she didn’t seem to be as adamantly against the idea as she herself was. At least Miguel and Lonnie were attracted to each other and Lonnie now knew the truth about what the Frenchman planned to do. They were hiding _something_ from Beauregard, but it was difficult to tell what. All of them were hiding as much as possible from that madman.

            The fact Wendy could feel her friends now was puzzling. Why had the Frenchman suddenly reversed his tactics, removing her empathic senses when she was about to be tortured, but making them unable to resist when she was alone in her cell? Did that insane Frenchman intend to overwhelm her with everyone else’s anxiety, to wear her down? She could feel them all now: their pain, their fear, their frustrations, and growing despair.

            Despair was especially pronounced in those who hadn’t admitted to having the Darwin dream, except for Nathan, who had abstained from answering for other reasons. He hadn’t fooled _her_ , of course, but she also knew he hadn’t fooled anyone else who was having the dreams either. Even Jonathan, who wasn’t having the dreams himself, had correctly guessed what kind of “special dream” they were discussing, that the captain’s silence was a false clue, and that the whole phenome­non was somehow significant. He just had too many unanswered questions to be able to draw hope from all his insight.

            When she had the strength, she spent a little time concentrating on each person, trying to get a feel for where each one stood emotionally. For all she knew, her senses would be ripped away again, and this might be her last chance to feel everyone. It was draining to feel strong negative emotions, but it was also draining to try to make sense of some of their coping mechanisms.

            Lucas, for instance, calculated pi out to astronomical decimal places, just to pass the time. Stumbling upon his mathematical computations, Wendy hadn’t realized what he was doing and had spent an exhausting hour trying to understand all the numbers in his head. Tim practiced obscure verb conjugations and Brody was mentally rebuilding the engine to his ’99 Trident, while Jonathan had thousands of ships and submarines re-enacting epic naval battles on the vid-screen of his mind.

            She had been surprised when Lonnie and Miguel were placed together so soon after her foot whipping. Beauregard must have given Lonnie the choice right after he’d finished her torture. This of itself was worrisome. Events were no longer predictable. Less than a day after that, Wendy found herself strapped in the stone chair and staring out through smoky walls at three big guillotines with Ford and Brody positioned precariously under the blades.

            From the level of horror and anxiety she felt from everyone, it was evident everyone else could see what she saw. But they’d lost the comfort of each other’s voices. They couldn’t check on each other or try to offer encouragement to the ill-fated victims. All they could do was watch.

            Everyone heard the horrific choice forced on Lucas. Had Wendy not been sitting already, the shock of Beauregard’s pronouncement would certainly have bowled her over. For ten tormenting seconds, the poor teen agonized over his decision, unable to perceive both Ford and Brody giving him permission to spare his fellow and allow himself to be maimed without any blame. Faced with such a dreadful dilemma, Lucas had done the only reasonable thing he could, and refused to make a choice at all. His decision backfired when it essentially doubled the penalty.

            Wendy felt some sort of deception on Beauregard’s part, but she always felt an undercurrent of deception from him. Perhaps he had always intended to chop off both legs and had only pretended to offer Lucas a choice to watch him squirm. Wendy passed out when the two guillotine blades dropped. Lucas’s unbearable burden, the collective horror of all the crew, and the abject fear felt by the two men had been too much for her. When consciousness returned, her cell wall was solid again and she’d been released from her bonds.

            Thankfully, she’d missed the actual moment of impact and Jim and Jona­than’s resultant pain. She ventured her senses to feel them now and found them both unconscious, but alive. The doctor inside her longed to go to them, but she wasn’t sure she possessed enough emotional strength to handle it, not that she held out any hope it would be allowed.

            Lucas’s crushing grief hit her next. He was curled up and crying. _Good, Lucas. Let it out_. She felt Nathan close by…was he actually _watching?_ She couldn’t be certain, but her best guess was the wall between their cells had been made translucent. Lucas was unaware of it and Nathan wasn’t trying to capture any attention. The captain was still and quiet, watching the poor kid while his heart broke for him.

            He felt badly for his two officers, but at least he wasn’t having to watch them writhe in pain. He knew there was nothing he could do for them right now, so he was concentrating on his surrogate son, trying to decide what he could do without words if Lucas ever saw him.

            Lonnie was also crying while Miguel held her in his arms. Did she have any idea how lucky she was to have another human being to comfort her? Wendy had to guide her senses away to control her own envy. Miguel was devastated, but focusing on Lonnie and reassuring her was doing him a world of good.

            The rest of the guys were in varying degrees of shock, with Tim feeling the worst. Having absorbed a bit of medical knowledge from her, he was afraid not just for his friend’s legs, but their lives, and by extension, their very souls. Wendy wished she could get a message to him. Hadn’t he said he found a ten-year-old girl in Spain who had Mary’s abilities? Now that Wendy wasn’t being drugged, a link would be possible, if Tim could only guess to try again.

            Tim’s physical wounds weren’t healed yet. He was still in a lot of pain and probably would be for a while, considering the severity of his beating. Now he had to worry he might become second-in-command on this mission to hell. While confidence was never his forte, he had even less without a headset, radio, or computer to back him up. Not only were Ford and Brody more experienced in command, they were both better suited to tactical ground conditions than Tim was. Indeed, even Miguel and Lonnie were better suited. The communications officer kept berating himself over and over for not having taken more survival and ground combat training.

            Wendy was so tired. She wanted to lie down, to escape into the realm of sleep, and hopefully to drink of Darwin’s liquid peace, but the mere thought of moving her feet sent twinges of pain up and down her legs. If the chair wasn’t made of stone, she might have considered sleeping sitting up, but she needed better sleep than the chair could offer. Slowly, she started the long, arduous journey toward the floor.

            About two-thirds of the way there, she felt a rush of happiness from Lucas and knew he’d seen the captain. The two of them practically radiated love mingled with the frustration of being separated by the wall. Wendy was able to divert her attention back to her convoluted maneuvering to so they had a little privacy, but their disappointment at the wall’s rematerializing was too abrupt and intense for her to ignore. 

            A probe of her senses toward Beauregard revealed his plan to hurt the captain hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped. While the thought brought a momentary smile to her lips, she realized it meant he’d simply try something else. Soon.


	23. Chapter 23

 

            Beauregard had been supremely pleased with his guillotine illusion. The expressions on the men’s faces were so utterly perfect and the reactions of the other pets so deliciously horrified. Everyone believed he severed both men’s legs completely off. Young Wolenczak’s bawl­ing looked promising for inciting some strong reactions in the captain, but it turned out he wasn’t quite as emotionally attached to the young man as Beauregard thought. The elder man sat and watched, but he didn’t wring his hands, spew curses, or even try to get the little whiner’s attention.

            The kid cried for so long that Beauregard wasn’t even watching when the whimpering one finally noticed the wall was translucent. However,  it couldn’t have been long before he caught them gesturing. Careless oversight, but costly. He’d expected to milk the soft-hearted little pup for at least a week of guilt and regret, but whatever these two had communicated, it quashed the younger’s inclination to sob. He was still sulking, but somehow, the sting was gone. Beauregard admonished himself to never allow Wolenczak and Bridger to see each other again.

            Another morning test proved Mademoiselle Henderson was getting nowhere with the Cuban runt and Mademoiselle Smith was wallowing around on the floor like a sow in the mud, all smug for having thwarted his goals. Any minute, Messieurs Brody and Ford would regain consciousness and realize they hadn’t lost their legs. Their moods were sure to turn disgustingly giddy.

            Enough was enough. It was time for another show. He decided on the players first and then flipped through his homemade scrapbook full of scene ideas, plotting with his lips curled in grim determination. The stakes would be high again, this time with only a slight chance of the subject escaping permanent damage, and only if he, Beauregard, gained something significant in return.

            His eyes alighted on the page entitled, “Silence is Golden” and he slipped his spidery finger over the list of necessary equipment… stainless steel chopsticks, head vices, precision injectors, and nanobotic detonators. _Yes, this would do quite nicely_.

            He started work immediately in the main theater. The equipment wasn’t nearly as cumbersome as the guillotines, but there was a greater risk of death if every detail wasn’t perfectly executed. _Executed_. He laughed at his own ironic thought, and the sound echoed off the empty walls. Most would think the guillotines more dangerous and better suited to execution than chopsticks. The risk of losing one of his pets didn’t bother him so much this time—after all, he was still going to allow an outside chance for this to end up as another illusion.

            However, he did fret over the difficulty in directing the scene. Without the large, showy devices, it would be harder for the spectators to appreciate what he was threatening to do. He couldn’t produce the maximum horror without their full comprehension and a watermelon wasn’t going to suffice as example this time. He decided to utilize the closed circuit camera. That way, everyone could see the full, front-on view, close enough to make out what was happening.

            Beauregard gassed the breeding cell first and directed his muscle to move the male into the theater. He clamped Mademoiselle Henderson into her chair himself. Since she’d been gassed so early, she would waken before the stage was set. He solidified her window so it would be too dark to see. Since Beauregard could hardly wait to tell the little vixen off, he left the pickup mic on. When she called frantically for her mate, he could explain with great relish why the runt was missing.

            Next to be gassed was Monsieur O’Neill. Grunt _nombre deux_ hauled him out to the theater to join Monsieur Ortiz. They were each laid out on flat slabs, face up, with the standard restraints at wrists and ankles. The head vices were tailored to their exact dimensions, encasing their temples and foreheads in a stone “headband” which grew seamlessly out of the back of the slab. The only way they could turn their heads was if they broke their own skulls. Beauregard left the slabs in horizontal configuration while he prepared, but he positioned the slabs in front of the camera for maximum visual impact according to how they would look when vertical.

            He gave both of his subjects a booster of knockout drug so nothing would be disturbed while he mounted the precision injectors on the left and right sides of their heads. He didn’t use the paralyzer because he didn’t want them conscious until the scene was set and ready. The injector arms were secured to the stainless steel chopsticks, with the points poised just outside the ear canals, still visible. Medical scanners gave him measurements down to the micron, which he employed to program the steel-pointed projectiles.

            Monsieur Ortiz’s tiny spears would have only one programmed stopping point. If he was chosen as the victim, the chopsticks would pierce his eardrum, cochlea, and auditory nerve, rendering him permanently deaf. His chances at being chosen were much slimmer, since Monsieur Bridger would be choosing this time. Monsieur O’Neill had ridiculed his former captain in front of all the others, making _him_ the odd’s-on favorite. However, if Ortiz was chosen despite his lesser chances, he’d already been given too many advantages to escape this. He’d proven himself either impotent or deceptive, both crimes worthy of punishment.

            Monsieur O’Neill’s spikes would be set to render him permanently deaf, but he would have an intermediate depth set as well, just in case Mademoiselle Smith softened.

            The spectacled one had boldly claimed she loved him, but she’d chosen a cruel bastinado rather than mate with him, so perhaps he wasn’t as highly-regarded as he liked to think. If this threat could entrap the lovely lady doctor, an option existed to spare his hearing as an incentive. The chopsticks would stop short of the eardrum and the nanobotic detonators would fire micro-electrostatic bursts causing sharp pain to the external canals and pinnae, but no damage to the deeper organs necessary for hearing. Since the injectors could thrust almost as fast as bullets and the difference between the two depths so minute, there would be no way for anyone to tell what really happened, especially if Monsieur O’Neill were howling in pain. _Voilà_ , another perfect illusion.

            The precision injectors mounted and set, Beauregard activated the motor which rotated the slabs from horizontal to vertical. He watched as their precari­ously threatened heads rose into view of the camera. He reached out to adjust Monsieur O’Neill’s glasses, as the restraining headband had pushed the earpiece off one side. It wouldn’t do for him to miss the stunning visual effects of the scene he was to have a star role in.

            Just then, Beauregard heard a sound on his remote. He stopped the slab’s motion to get a better listen.

            “Miguel?” It was Mademoiselle Henderson waking from her drugged state.

            He lifted his microphone to his lips. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Monsieur Ortiz is indisposed _pour le moment_.”

            “Where is he? What have you done with him?”

            “You shall see soon enough.”

            “We had a deal! You promised me he wouldn’t be harmed!”

            “Non, Mademoiselle. I promised he would be spared contingent upon your _conception_. You ’ave been fertile for four days and Monsieur Ortiz ’as not fulfilled ’is duty. Therefore, he is not exempt from participation in the theater. _If_ he survives, you might wish to impress upon ’im the importance of attending to ’is obligation with all due ’aste and alacrity.”

            “And what if it’s _my_ fault? He’s done everything you asked. Please…” Her voice cracked and she sounded desperate. “Take me instead.”

            “Touching, Mademoiselle. Quite a stirring performance indeed. But I ’ave already spent too much time setting the equipment. Let this be a warning. Your _last_ warning. Next time, it may very well be your tender soles in my sights.”

            She wailed, “No!” but he cut off the sound in mid-scream. A grin formed on thin lips. That had truly been satisfying. He finished raising the two platforms which held the players for his next scene, adjusting the camera and the stage lights. Everything was perfect.

            Beauregard gassed the cells of the remaining prisoners so the spectators could be immobilized in their chairs. The center-facing cell walls, which he usually dissolved or made translucent, would instead be transformed into receivers for the camera signal. They would watch in high definition, seeing the images larger than life and in exquisite detail.

            Televising the scene also meant no one would see Messieurs Ford and Brody, nor would it appear they were being hid. They would only see “Silence is Golden” starring Monsieur Ortiz and Monsieur O’Neill with a cameo by Monsieur Bridger. If Mademoiselle Smith decided to join the cast, she would have to be content with no billing on the marquee.

            Finally, he set up a large screen just below the camera, facing his players so they could watch the show as well. It wouldn’t do for them to fail to appreciate the precarious position he’d placed them in.

            Beauregard retreated to his control room where he could watch all the players and spectators, control which images were displayed on every screen, and also what each person could hear. He watched while his unconscious pets were moved and manipulated. Messieurs Ford and Brody hardly seemed damaged at all but for the ring of blistered flesh encircling their thighs and the shorter leg on their corresponding uniform pants where the copper wire had burned through fabric as well as skin.

            Mademoiselle Smith looked a little peaked, but there were no signs of complication with her feet. The enlisted men still had open wounds oozing on their backs; it would be a little while before he brought them back out to the theater themselves, but it was good for them to watch the others in the meantime.

            At last, all the spectators were properly restrained and starting to regain consciousness. He made sure all the cells’ windows were solid so no light would compete with the stage. When he brought up the lights in the theater, it would initiate the live broadcast and the spectators could watch as if in a darkened movie house. The stage was set.

            Beauregard activated the speakers. “Mesdames et messieurs, I ’ave taken the liberty of televising today’s live performance for your viewing convenience. Messieurs Ortiz and O’Neill, I feel compelled to admonish you not to move your ’eads. The injectors holding the chopsticks are precision-set to your individual anatomies. They are positioned to puncture eardrums and auditory nerves, but it is not much further to strike brain matter. A centimeter in any direction could be… most unfortunate.” He brought the lights up slowly for dramatic effect.

            Everyone gasped in concert.

            The two men studied the screen before their eyes. It only took seconds for them to recognize their quandary and freeze. The Cuban diverted his energy to struggling against the restraints on his wrists, growling and gritting his teeth. The pasty one squeezed terrified eyes shut behind the thick lenses and then held his breath. He could be the poster boy for ‘petrified’. Beauregard was glad he was capturing this all on camera.

            “Monsieur Bridger will be choosing which of you should lose ’is hearing.” He flipped switches and changed the video feed so that everyone now saw their bedraggled and defeated ex-captain. “I trust I do not ’ave to warn you what will ’appen if you refuse to choose.”

            Bridger sighed and shook his head in defeat.

            Beauregard switched the view back to the theater. Monsieur O’Neill’s lips were moving silently. The Frenchman couldn’t tell what he was trying to say, but he could guess. “Trying to apologize for your earlier insults, Monsieur?”

            The pasty one gulped, licked his lips, and rasped out a stuttering reply, “N-No. I d-don’t have to.” He swallowed and took a deep breath. “Nathan doesn’t have the balls to pick a fight with me. He’ll sell out the lowly sensor chief instead. He’s always saying how all the non-coms are expendable.” Four-eyes seemed more relaxed, like he was so sure of his prediction that the danger was over. He closed his eyes, but this time he wasn’t squeezing the lids tight like he did before. He appeared confident and… _bored_.

            Beauregard quickly switched the feed to Bridger’s cell. The man was clawing at his chair, jaw set in a rage, and the veins in his neck bulged. “You think you’re less expendable than Ortiz, you mick? I’ll show you balls.” He looked up at the ceiling speaker. “I choose O’Neill.”

            Everyone gasped at this. Perhaps they all expected him to choose the lowly non-com, as predicted. As prudish as these sailors were, they probably didn’t have much experience with rival lovers. Monsieur O’Neill looked shocked for a second, but he quickly put on a mask of indifference. _How simply delicious_.

            Beauregard punched up the monitor for Mademoiselle Smith’s cell, but only for himself. Everyone else was directed back to the theater. She hardly moved, but tears streamed down her cheeks. He leaned into his microphone and employed his stage whisper, “Mademoiselle?” He wasn’t going to cajole her again. If she really cared about this brazen fool, she’d have to prove it.

            She looked around as if she’d forgotten he could see and hear her. It didn’t take her long to realize the power she held. “You win! Stop this now, and I’ll take Tim as my mate. But don’t hurt Miguel either. Spare them both or no deal.”

            _Success!_ He couldn’t help but grin. “Done,” he said to her cell alone.

            Of course, he still had to use the illusion in order to keep Monsieur Bridger satisfied. He’d earned revenge on his rival and it was only fair to give it to him. Beauregard opened up the speakers to all the cells and the theater. “Remember my voice, Monsieur O’Neill, as it is the last you will ever hear.” He zoomed the camera in for a close-up and immediately pressed the button marked “illusion”. The chop­sticks shot into his ear canals with lightning speed and his face wrenched up in an agonized scream. He couldn’t sustain the scream for more than three seconds before he passed out. The screams of all the spectators and his fellow player outlasted his, but Beauregard silenced them with a flip of a switch.

            So utterly perfect. Before O’Neill’s facial muscles relaxed from unconsciousness, the lights faded to black.


	24. Chapter 24

            Wendy watched in horror as Beauregard ruthlessly stabbed metal knitting needles into Tim’s ears. She’d tried to save him but it didn’t work. The lunatic declared they had a deal and then went right ahead and crippled him anyway. Poor Tim passed out from pain and shock. At least the captain had been able to spare Miguel. Unfortunately, Nathan was far from relieved.

            Miguel was truly devastated at the outcome. He and Tim were good friends and he knew what this meant for Tim’s career. Just as the lights went out, she felt as much as heard Miguel’s scream of protest. He might even shed tears, but Wendy’s own emotions were so overwhelming, she couldn’t really focus on Nathan or Miguel. She sobbed uncontrollably.

            Once the show was over, she expected the restraints to disappear, releasing her ankles and wrists. Instead, the wall which had recently been a video screen dissolved, and she could see the theater room, lit dimly now. As far as she could tell through her bleary, tear-filled eyes, the only other wall that had disappeared belonged to the cell Miguel shared with Lonnie. One of the hulking brutes unloaded Miguel’s limp form from his shoulder to the bed and then left, the wall rematerializing behind him.

            The Frenchman was hunched over Tim’s body, peering at the damage he’d caused. Wendy tried to blink the tears out of her eyes to get a better look. Beauregard removed the spikes which protruded so hideously from his victim’s head. In French, he told Hans and Frans to paralyze Brody and put him in Tim’s cell. For one horrible second, Wendy thought Tim might be dead, but since she had no confirmation of this from Beauregard, she quieted her fears. The evil captor pressed buttons on his remote and the thugs tromped off to do his bidding.

            Wendy could hear movement and then, without warning, the dividing wall which separated her cell from Brody’s just disappeared. Her attention snapped to Brody’s chair, but he was already gone.

            Beauregard left Tim on the stage and exited toward the wall to her left. Although she had never seen inside that particular wall, Wendy figured it was some kind of control room. Hans and Frans followed him. She was left in a double-sized cell with both theater-facing walls open. _They were coming back._ She tried to calm her sobbing so she would be able to speak if the opportunity presented itself.

            She concentrated on Tim’s mind. He wasn’t conscious, but at least he was alive. Unconsciousness was probably a good thing, considering his trauma. She resisted checking on anyone else, since she was trying to keep her anguish under control.

            A few minutes later, she heard scuffling and then Hans and Frans came into view, pushing a featherbed like Lonnie’s into her cell. So that mad Frenchman was going to force them together even after he’d played with her and broken his word? Where was he, anyway?

            She plucked up some courage and spoke to the furniture movers in French. “Is he threatening you or your families?”

            One of them dropped the bed. The other frowned and grunted at him. “Don’t answer, Jacques. Just get this thing inside, like he said.”

            She detected apprehension from both of them. Wendy was pondering her next question when she saw Beauregard back in the theater, doing something to Tim. Hans and Frans joined Beauregard and then the two hulks carried Tim back to her cell and dropped him on the bed. The lunatic strolled in, staring at her with lurid eyes and a sickening smile on his thin lips.

            She glared back and then spat in French, “How dare you assume I’m going to do anything you want after what you’ve done to him.” She wanted his lackeys to see her standing up to him.

            “Your French is very good, Mademoiselle,” he said in English. “And I admit I am surprised you were able to keep this from me. But it changes nothing.”

            Her eyes alighted on Tim’s body and the doctor inside yearned to examine his injuries, but she tried to concentrate on Beauregard. Surely at this proximity she could penetrate his mind well enough to discover some kind of weapon to use against him.

            “For your information, I _did_ spare your lover’s eardrums. ’Is injuries are superficial.” He pulled something from a pocket and dropped it on the bed beside Tim. “See for yourself and consider well what might ’ave been. If you do not keep your side of the bargain, I can easily reverse that result. Au revoir, Mademoiselle.” He stepped back and the two theater-facing walls rematerialized before her eyes. He was gone.

            In the next second, two windows appeared behind her, allowing the dim light of early evening into the cell at the same time as the restraints on her wrists and ankles dissolved back into the chair. She surged toward the bed and her patient, forgetting her own wounds. Her feet exploded with the pressure of standing and she cried out in pain. Her ankles buckled and she fell forward onto the floor. Discouraged, but not thwarted, she stumbled toward the bed on her hands and knees.

            “Tim?” she called softly. Could it be true his hearing was unharmed? As she approached the bed, she recognized what Beauregard had dropped there. It was her otoscope, the one that had been in the pocket of her lab coat when she was kidnapped. She grabbed a section of the bed linens and pulled herself up with minimal pressure to her throbbing feet. Panting, she landed next to Tim. It was a good thing he was out cold or this would be extraordinarily awkward.

            Otoscope in hand, she peered into Tim’s ear canal. His tympanic membrane was intact! She gently rolled Tim’s head to examine his other ear. The walls of both ear canals were cherry-red, like he’d been severely sunburned, but those cruel spikes hadn’t pierced anything critical. _Did the Frenchman actually have an ounce of compassion?_ No. It was exactly as he said. He spared him this one time so he would have leverage over _her_. She wouldn’t forget what he was capable of or the consequences should she try to weasel out of their deal.

            She shook her head, muttering to herself, “Great, now all I have to do is explain to Tim what his off-hand remark about being lovers is going to cost him.” Why hadn’t she just chosen Nathan or Jim when she had the chance? At least they were both attracted to her to some degree. She couldn’t even imagine Tim faking a passionate kiss. Although his recent acting performance had been so impressive, perhaps she shouldn’t judge him so swiftly.

            Wendy pushed herself up so she was sitting beside him. She’d been dying to get a good look at his back after the extra-brutal beating, but she wasn’t going to try to undress him while he was unconscious. Not in light of why they’d been placed together in this cell.

            At least the bed was comfortable. She wasn’t happy with what it symbolized, but she and Tim deserved it at least as much as Miguel and Lonnie. Wendy could hardly wait to let herself sink into the feathery softness for a real night’s sleep. If Tim didn’t rouse soon, she’d slip under the covers beside him. But she really wanted to talk to him first.

            “Tim, can you hear me?” She placed her hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. “Tim?”

            His hand gravitated toward his ear and he groaned. His eyelids lifted slowly. “Doctor? Wh-where am I?”

            “Still in the madman’s prison. Can you hear me?”

            He blinked. “Yeah. Wait. How’s that possible?”

            “His chopsticks malfunctioned.”

            He shook his head. “No way. I felt them. It _still_ feels like my ears are on fire.”

            “Your ear canals are extremely inflamed, but the eardrums and everything behind them are intact. You can hear, so count yourself lucky.”

            His head jerked up and he looked around the room. When he spoke again, it was in a low whisper. “Does he know about the malfunction?” Unspoken was the fear Beauregard would come back to rectify his mistake.

            Wendy nodded. “Yes, he knows. But you’re safe for the moment.” There was too much she needed to say that she didn’t want overheard. “Take my hand.”

            He pushed his glasses up on his nose and then hesitantly reached out for the hand she offered. She looked him straight in the eyes, hoping he would under­stand what she was trying to do.

            _Are you still drugged? Can you hear me?_ he thought.

            She smiled at him and nodded. _How about you? Can you read my thoughts?_

_Yes. What’s going on?_

_There’s something I have to do first. Just play along. I’ll explain later._ She lifted her free hand to his jaw (now covered in scraggly beard), drew a deep breath, leaned in, and planted a long kiss on his lips. It was hard to ignore his body odor and his halitosis, but hers was just as bad. Over a month without bathing or brushing teeth tended to do that. There was nothing to be done about it, so she did her best to push it out of her mind.

            His eyes bugged wide under his glasses, but he resisted the considerable urge to shrink away. He seemed to gather it was an act for their captor and although he was nervous, he did his best to make it look good.

            _Sorry, Tim, but you’re the one who told him we were lovers._

 _Um, I’m not complaining, Doctor, but I only did that so you could talk with the captain. You couldn’t read my Transmissions the day he beat your feet?_ She felt his anxiety level rise tenfold. __

_Yes, I heard you and I relayed your apology, but Nathan didn’t accept it._

His heart fell and it registered in downcast eyes. _Oh, crap. What have I done?_

She squeezed his hand. _Calm down. He didn’t accept your apology because he felt there was nothing to apologize **for**. He said you were following Executive Order Barracuda and he was impressed. Couldn’t you tell when he threatened to kill you right off?_

_For insubordination like that? He had every right to wring my neck. I called him an impotent coward in front of the whole crew!_

_Yes, and he thinks you should get an Academy Award for it. You realize he fully understood what you did today, right?_

He shrugged and didn’t answer.

_You reminded him he **had** to pick you because you’re an officer and Miguel isn’t. You gave him **permission** to choose you, so he wouldn’t feel badly. He understood, Tim. And he appreciated it more than you can imagine. He doesn’t know you still have your hearing. He thinks he sentenced you to permanent deafness._

_I could always translate written documents. Miguel needs his hearing more than I do. Besides, it was all a bunch of smoke and mirrors anyway._

_You didn’t know that. If Nathan had chosen Miguel, he would have been skewered, just like you thought you were going to be._ She paused. She knew she had to tell him, but it was just so hard. _Uh, Tim… the ‘malfunction’ wasn’t exactly an accident. Beauregard only spared you because I… I agreed to take you as my… uh…what I’m trying to say is… he wants to breed us. He put Lonnie and Miguel together for the same reason._

_So you agreed to… uh… **you** saved my hearing?_

_It isn’t as selfless as it sounds. If I didn’t choose **somebody** , Beauregard was going to rape me._

Tim was silent a moment. _Y-you had a choice? Why me then?_

_He threatened you because he thought we were lovers._

_Because **I** opened my big mouth. I’m sorry, Doctor. Look, we’ll stage a fight and you can slap me in the face and have me thrown out. Then you can pick someone else._

_Tim, I don’t want to get pregnant. Not by anyone. Empaths can feel their babies in utero. Even if we’re rescued, I couldn’t terminate a pregnancy._

_So you’re just going to **pretend** to…uh…_

_Yes. If you’re willing._

He gulped and adjusted his glasses again. _Wouldn’t you rather pretend with the captain?_

_Not really. I don’t want to send him mixed signals. Besides, his heart belongs to someone else and even ‘pretending’ with me would make him feel guilty once he figures that out._

_Dr. Westphalen._ It was a statement, not a question.

_You knew? **He** doesn’t even know! I think you’re more psychic than you want to admit._

_Uh… scuttlebutt, that’s all._

She smirked _. Right. So what do you say? Can you pretend to be the lover you claimed to be?_

_Umm, Doctor? There’s something you need to know about me. I… uh…._

_Can you at least call me ‘Wendy’?_

_Okay, W-Wendy. But I need to invoke that doctor-patient privilege thing. You can’t tell anyone and I don’t want it in my records either._

_Does it affect your duties?_

_It would if anyone found out._

She realized she’d been idly twisting a section of his hair around her finger. She was trying to make it look like they were just basking in each other’s company while they were holding the silent conversation. Oddly though, he either didn’t notice, or didn’t seem particularly bothered by it, so she continued. _I’m hurt you could think I would break a confidence, medical or not._

_It’s highly embarrassing._

She didn’t push him. He was fighting a battle with a rather large part of himself on the side of not telling her. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. She came close to saying something encouraging, but she sensed he was trying to mentally detach himself from her in order to escape whatever repulsion he assumed she would bear against him.

            He gulped and then blurted it out quickly. _I’m a virgin_.

            She couldn’t help smiling. _That’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Tim. It’s all right. I swear I won’t tell a soul._

_Don’t you get it? I don’t know **how** to fake this because I’ve never done it for real._

_I bet you’ve never insulted Captain Bridger for real either, and yet you did a spectacular job of that. Just let me do all the work and you try not to look disgusted by what I do. Can you handle that?_

He nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.

            She kissed his forehead and caressed his temples with her fingertips, but she kept the majority of her attention on their thought conversation. _Could you see into Lonnie and Miguel’s cell when they got their bathtub?_

            He cringed. _Yes_.

            _Don’t feel bad. I saw it too. Beauregard was deeply disappointed when everyone was so respectful of their privacy. I couldn’t hear them, but I’m sure the Frenchman could put us on speakers if he wanted to. We should be prepared for that. The only one on the crew who understands French is Lucas, right?_

_I think so, yes._

_If we keep our spoken words in French, everyone will probably figure out it’s a performance for Beauregard’s benefit._

_Lucas said you almost left **seaQuest** when the crew was gossiping about you and the captain. This is sure to start some big rumors._

_Maybe, but I’m willing to risk some gossip, especially if it saves your hearing and keeps me from getting raped. Help is on the way._

_The Darwin dream?_

She nodded.

_Is Tony in yours too?_

_Yes. This is incredible. If we ever get out of here, I’m going to have to write a paper on this. I feel certain Tony and Darwin are coming for us. Do you feel that?_

He nodded sheepishly. _The question is, even if they get here, what are they going to do? One guy and a dolphin aren’t much of a threat._

_Have some faith._

He nodded again.

_I’ve wanted to examine your back ever since your beating. Can I look now?_

_Uh, I guess so, sure._ He reached for his jumpsuit zipper at the same time as he started to sit up. Although it pained him to move, he didn’t let it show outwardly.

            She pressed him back on the bed. _Just relax and follow my lead._ She spoke aloud in French, cooing the most seductive phrases she could think of while she pulled his zipper down. His nervousness rose, but he pasted a somewhat goofy grin on his face to cover it up. She tried to imagine his grin was cute and endearing. He had a hard time with the physical part of their performance; he didn’t kiss back or caress her. That was fine. She did enough for both of them.

            He did, however, catch on to the amorous conversation and jumped right in. It was like he was totally in his element, saying all the right words, even though there were no emotions behind it. He didn’t try to delude himself she really felt any­thing either, to her great relief. She’d been worried he might start to get the wrong ideas. Honestly, she didn’t think he’d be able to make it look half as good if he actually _had_ the feelings he was pretending to have. His acting persona was much more suave than the real Tim.

            With a little difficulty, she removed his jumpsuit and tossed the smelly, wrinkled garment on the floor. He still wore a t-shirt and some briefs. They had been white at one time, but now they were nearly brown and of course, reeking with a month’s worth of sweat. If she hadn’t been so used to her own stench, it might have bothered her, but her nose had become insensitive out of necessity. _I’m only going to take the shirt off, Tim. Just relax. I’m your doctor, remember?_

He nodded and took deep calming breaths which came off rather well as sighs of pleasure. He leaned on one elbow, lying on his side to face her. She tried to imagine how all this looked without benefit of knowing the real thoughts and emotions, and she felt sure their performance could fool anyone who wasn’t telepathic.

            Just before she started to remove his t-shirt, she realized it wouldn’t look right to keep all her own clothes on while removing his. _Can you undo my blouse buttons? I have undergarments on,_ she assured him. He lifted his hand to do as she’d asked but when she saw how much his arm was trembling, she gently pushed it down. _Never mind. Ask me to do a strip tease instead._

            He gulped and then complied, making the request in French sound even better than she could have conceived to word it in English.

            _Tim, that sounded really sexy. You’re doing great._ She started removing her blouse slowly, playing every little movement to the hilt.

_Am I? The last time a woman took her clothes off in front of me, I ended up zapped with a genome-wave-energy weapon._

She chuckled. _I wish I had a weapon, but if I did, I wouldn’t be aiming it at you._

_You don’t need a weapon to stop a guy in his tracks._

_I think that was a compliment._

He felt so awkward he couldn’t answer except with a nod. His gaze drifted to a spot on the wall behind her.

            Now wearing a rumpled-up camisole and a skirt whose hem had come unraveled, Wendy reached for the edge of his t-shirt.

            Tim closed his eyes. _Forget how beautiful she is,_ he admonished himself rather forcefully. _She’s just a doctor, looking at a scar. Nothing else._

            She didn’t call attention to the fact she could hear his thoughts. This was hard enough without reminding him he had no privacy when they were touching. She realized she was indeed holding a weapon on him. She was toying with his senses while expecting him to remain not only unemotional, but unaroused.

            _I’m sorry, Tim. I know this isn’t easy. There aren’t many men I’d trust in a situation like this_. _Thank you for doing this._

_How much choice did I have? I’m the one who opened my big mouth._

_As soon as I get a look at your back, we’ll just rest, okay? That madman can’t expect much of you after the trauma he put you through today._ She lifted his shirt more swiftly than she’d originally planned, trying to be more respectful of what her provocative actions might do to him. The back of his shirt was so badly stained in blood and plasma that she cringed and held her breath to steel herself for what was to come.

            He sucked air through his teeth and turned slowly from his side to his stomach.

            Wendy gasped. It had seemed like an eternity ago that he’d been beaten, but the wounds weren’t even fully closed. _God, I had no idea it was this bad. Are you still in pain?_

He chortled in his mind. _Yeah, only when I move or sit or lie on my back._

_Pretty much all the time, huh?_

He shrugged. _Pretty much._

            _Does it hurt when I touch it, like this?_ She ran her fingers over the wounds with as light a touch as she could manage.

            _In some places, yes. In others, I can’t feel it at all._

_Nerve damage. Those bastards tore out more than just skin and blood, Tim._

_I wish they’d ripped out **all** the nerves. _ He rolled back over to his side _. Um, how are your feet? Can you walk?_

_Not really. I crawled over here from the chair and I’ve been sleeping on the floor just so I don’t have to walk to the toilet._

_Tell me when you need to go. I’ll carry you._

He caught her off guard and she didn’t know what to say. She just stared at him, dumbfounded.

_What? You don’t think I’m strong enough? I somehow managed to drag both the captain and Lucas out of a plane._

Was he indignant? She laid her hand on his shoulder. _No, it wasn’t that at all. I was just in doctor mode and I forgot about acting._

 _I wasn’t acting,_ he said matter-of-factly.

            She was touched, more than she should have been. It really wasn’t that much to ask, certainly not as difficult as pretending to be her lover for a madman who was dead serious about results. Maybe it was just the fact she didn’t _have to_ ask. He was simply being a friend. _I appreciate it. Thank you_.

            There was an awkward silence. Tim’s eyes were darting around nervously. Finally he mindspoke again. _Uh, Wendy, I don’t know how well I can… uh… control… my… uh... self… when I’m asleep. Maybe I should sleep on the floor._

            _Like hell you will! All our passionate talk will be for nothing if you do that. Besides, you deserve a soft bed at least as much as I do._

_But…_

_I’m a doctor, Tim. I know how male physiology works. You’re not going to do anything I don’t want you to. I trust you._

_Wish **I** trusted me, _ he mind-muttered.

            She ignored it and scooted herself under the covers, helping Tim under too, lest he decide it was easier to remain atop, where he’d be cold in just his briefs, not to mention, it would look too suspicious. She gently removed his glasses from his face. _There. You won’t have to see me now._ Okay, so it wouldn’t help much, but didn’t he plan to take them off anyway?

            _Oh yeah,_ he said with more than a little sarcasm, _just like a cold shower_.

            She ignored both his tone and the obvious mood behind it and acted solely on his words. _Good._ With that, she snuggled her back into his chest, spooning herself against him with her head under his chin. _’Night, Tim._

 _Uh, good night._ He lay frozen for quite a long time before allowing his muscles to relax.

            Only when Wendy was sure he would be able to sleep without her hypnotizing him did she drift off into slumber herself. __


	25. Chapter 25

            “ _MR-3_ to _seaQuest_ , please respond,” Tony spoke into the radio over a secure frequency. Whoever kidnapped the bridge crew had enough technology to listen in on radio, so they weren’t taking any chances.

            “This is _seaQuest_ , _MR-3_. What’s your location?” Tony didn’t recognize the responding voice.

            “Mediterranean Sea, five nautical miles due south of If Island, depth 50 meters. Does Chief Kendall have any orders?”

            “Kendall is en route to your location aboard classified vessel, code name: _skyQuest_. Contact instructions are encrypted echo-tango-papa- hotel in the briefing files on the portable computer Nichols was instructed to deliver at rendezvous.”

            “E.T. phone home,” Tony muttered. The last week before the Mobius Hole had been retro movie week and this line had become something of an in-joke whenever anyone made vid-link calls from the crew lounge. Forrester and Tate laughed from behind him.

            There was a burst of laughter on the other side of the radio as well, but not from the comms operator. “Looks like I lost the betting pool on that one. Odds were 3-1 against you getting the joke, Piccolo. Good luck, _MR-3. SeaQuest_ out.”

            Tony snickered to himself, glad those who bet on his stupidity lost for once.

            “Classified vessel, eh?” said Tate. “Should we start a pool of our own to guess how long it will take them to get here? I’ll stake out a week.”

            Forrester shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Don’t underestimate engineers and scientists, sailor.”

            Nichols piped in from the rear of the craft, “With a name like _skyQuest_ , what do you think it could be, an airplane?”

            Forrester shook his head. “Nope. Doesn’t solve the fuel problem. Besides, do we have anyone qualified to fly?”

            “Brody probably could,” Tony said with tongue in cheek. He wasn’t sure the lieutenant really did have any pilot training, but the guy bragged so much, it wouldn’t surprise him. Everyone knew Brody was one of the missing, so his flying skills or lack thereof were irrelevant anyway.

            Tate caught his drift and chuckled. “Brody wouldn’t need a plane. The guy’s Superman.”

            “Well, it looks like Lex Luthor has some kryptonite on the good lieutenant,” Forrester said, “so it’s going to be up to you guys to rescue _him_. You up to the challenge?”

            “Oh, yeah,” Tate said, but not as confidently as Tony would have liked to hear.

            Nichols appeared in the doorway. “And we’ll never let him live it down either!”

            Tony grabbed the portable computer and typed in the four letters to unlock the encrypted instructions for how to contact Kendall. It wasn’t terribly complicated, just the precise radio frequency to use, along with a code list. He memorized what he could sound out and then passed the small computer to Nichols.

            Nichols read silently for a few seconds, then he started reading out loud, “It says here our mission is ‘Operation Moby-Dick’. Code names as follows: Darwin is ‘Captain Ahab.’ Tate, you’re ‘Poseidon.’ Piccolo is ‘Orca.’ I’m ‘Neptune.’ Forrester, you’re ‘Cousteau,’ and the _MR-3_ is ‘ _Titanic._ ’”

            “I’ve got a code name?” the scientist asked. He seemed surprised to be included.

            “Yeah, and they named _you_ something human,” Tony said a little too snidely.

            “You realize the whole purpose of using code is to confuse the enemy, right?” Tate reminded him.

            Nichols slapped Tony on the back. “Hey, it’s not like they called you ‘Hogfish’ or ‘Sea Slug’. You’re a killer whale, man!”

            “Easy for you to say when _you_ ’re a Greek god.”

            “Actually, Neptune is Roman. Poseidon is the Greek version,” Forrester said, canting his head toward Tate.

            _Great, so these two are both gods while I’m Shamu_. Tony scoffed. “Whatever.”

            Nichols leaned over Tony’s shoulder and whispered. “Do you want me to ask Kendall to change yours?”

            “King Triton,” Tony corrected. He’d been able to read Kendall’s code name without much trouble. He drew a deep breath and sighed. “Naw. I’ve just been stuck in this sardine can with three guys and a dolphin for too long. Everything’s startin’ to get on my nerves.”

            Forrester added, “Darwin is doing much better since he went out to swim. Why don’t you join him?”

            Tony nodded. “Soon as we clear it with King Triton.” He injected some humor into his voice in an attempt to make everyone forget he’d just spouted off like a moron. His last commanding officer had once pegged him as ‘Cinderella’ just to piss him off. A designation like ‘Orca’ was a thousand times cooler and under any other circumstances wouldn’t have fazed him. He was going to be first to scope out the island and probably first to land. If he didn’t get killed, he might even win a couple of brownie points for this crazy operation. He had nothing to complain about.

            Tate consulted the portable computer screen and set the frequency controls on the shuttle’s radio console. “ _Titanic_ to _skyQuest_ , this is Poseidon, do you read?”

            “ _SkyQuest_ to _Titanic_ , loud and clear. This is King Triton. Status report?” It was Kendall’s voice.

            “We’re holding position at five nautical miles due south of…” Tate consulted the code page again, obviously checking the designation for If Island. “…Entebbe. Scans for human life are negative. Captain Ahab says, ‘Friends trapped inside dark walls.’ Request permission to send out Orca for further recon.”

            “Permission granted. You made excellent time to Entebbe, _Titanic_.”

            “You know Ahab’s obsession with Moby-Dick.”

            A chuckle. “I do indeed. We’re approximately thirty-six hours behind you.”

            Tate turned to exchange wide-eyed looks with Tony and Nichols.

            Forrester, however, wore a very smug grin. “Told you never to underestimate scientists and engineers.”

            Tate turned back to the console. “Copy that, _skyQuest_. Do you have any other orders for us?”

            “Recommend you move _Titanic_ to within a mile, but stay below the surface. Scout Entebbe and observe as much as possible, but wait for _skyQuest_ ’s arrival to take any action. However, Captain Ahab’s orders supersede mine. If you find life signs and he wants to move in immediately, trust his instincts. He’s gotten us this far.”

            “Affirmative, Triton. Care to give us a clue on _skyQuest_ ’s configuration or method of propulsion?”

            “Negative, _Titanic_. Keeping it classified as long as possible. Don’t worry though. No chance you’ll mistake us for anyone else.”

            Tate shrugged. “Smooth sailing, _skyQuest. Titanic_ out.” He switched the radio mic off and turned around to join the impromptu huddle the guys had formed.

            “We ought to run surveillance from now until they get here,” Nichols said.

            “Well, I can’t tread water for thirty-six hours, guys,” Tony said. “Not even with Cap’n Ahab holdin’ me up.”

            “There’s three of us,” Tate said. “And there’s no sponge duty anymore, so I say we take three-hour shifts. This is an observational mission, so gills aren’t necessary.”

            “There are four of us,” Forrester interjected. “I may not be a real Cousteau, but I’m a good swimmer and diver.”

            “We can’t put you in danger,” Nichols argued.

            “What danger? I’m just observing. That’s what scientists _do,_ you know. And we’re not half bad at it. If Darwin decides to storm the island, I’ll man the _Titanic_.”

            The Navy guys exchanged looks.

            “What, do I have to get ‘Captain Ahab’ to order you? Come on. I’m not going to jeopardize the rescue. With four of us in rotation, that means three hours swimming, three hours monitoring shuttlecontrols, and six hours sleeping. You can’t cover everything without me unless you all go into sleep deprivation and _then_ who is jeopardizing the mission?”

            Tony grinned and shook his head. “The science dude has a point.”

            “Of course I have a point! Let me do something useful besides squeeze a sponge.”

            Tate shrugged. “I got no objection as long as he’s just doing surveillance. We need him.”

            Nichols threw his hands up in defeat. “Okay, looks like you’re getting out of the sardine can, Doc. Piccolo, you’re up for swimming first. I’ll go next, then Tate, and Forrester last. After swimming recon, take a turn at shuttle controls and then hit the sack. Everyone got that?”

            “Aye, aye, Neptune.”

            “Keep in radio contact with the shuttle at all times and stay close to Darwin. Don’t use artificial light unless it’s underwater. Any questions?”

            “What about weapons?” Tate asked.

            “Take whatever you want that won’t slow you down. Retreat is preferable to fighting until we have backup.”

            Tate and Nichols gave Forrester a crash course in shuttle controls while they moved closer to the island as Kendall recommended. He wouldn’t have to drive, just maintain position and watch the instruments. After stripping down to his swim trunks, Tony went back to the computer and studied the château diagrams one more time. When they parked _MR-3,_ Tony exited via the diving airlock.

            Darwin found him within ten minutes and eagerly dragged him toward the island. Tony joined the dolphin when he surfaced to breathe. It was a good chance to see what they were headed for. At first, the gilled human only let his eyeballs clear the waterline. There were ships in the harbor to the east, closer to Marseille, and quite a few out in the open ocean to the south, but all were far enough away that no one would see a lone swimmer. Tony lifted his whole head above the surface and whispered to his swim-buddy/captain. “Hey, can you take me to the dark walls?”

            Since he didn’t bring the vocorder, he didn’t expect a verbal response. Darwin seemed to understand and took off again, letting Tony hold his dorsal fin. As they got closer, Tony could see three islands close together with the larger ones to the north and west of the smaller one. If was the smallest island in the archipelago and Darwin was headed straight for it.

            But there was no château.

            “Orca to _Titanic_ , we have a problem.”

            Forrester answered, “Don’t go all ‘Apollo 13’ on us, Orca. What is the nature of your problem?”

            “That uh…” Tony struggled with how to discuss Château d’If without compromising secrecy, “…thing—er, building—we’ve all spent hours studying? The diagrams and schematics? It ain’t here. Cap’n Ahab wasn’t kiddin’ about dark walls though. There’s a squatty building made of black glass or somethin’. The building outline and color doesn’t match any of the pictures I saw.”

            “Glass? Everything we’ve seen indicates it’s way too early for glass buildings.”

            “Not sure it’s glass.”

            “Well, if that other structure that’s supposed to be there isn’t there, then it means we’ve arrived before it was built, or someone has altered history and destroyed it. What else can you tell us about the building with dark walls?”

            “It’s low—can’t be more than one storey. I can’t see any doors or windows from here, but Cap’n Ahab’s gonna take me closer. The good news is the perimeter wall isn’t here either. Looks like a clean line-of-sight once we climb the cliffs. The place is pretty barren. No trees or nothin’.”

            “You be careful, Orca. Line-of-sight goes both ways. Don’t you let that white whale get the drop on you.”

            Tony didn’t remember any code name being assigned the kidnappers, but he got the gist of Forrester’s meaning. “Copy that, Cousteau. I’m staying in the water while the sun’s up.”

            “Good plan. We’ve got plenty of time before Triton arrives.”

            “I’ll call back when I know more. Orca out.”

            When the elevation of the cliffs started to interfere with his view, Tony nudged Darwin to take a lateral course. He wasn’t letting the dolphin do all the swimming; he kicked hard and sculled with his free hand. Together, they traveled faster than Tony could achieve on his own. They were forced to change course again in order to navigate between the larger islands, which meant they couldn’t see the building while they rounded the western section. By this time, it was apparent the building was roughly circular. The black walls were shiny and definitely flat, not curved, because the sunlight bounced off them like a mirror.

            As they made it to the east side of the island, Tony saw movement. He halted where he was and submerged down to his eyeballs again. Darwin also stopped and waited. A woman in a grubby dress walked out to a small dinghy, got in, and started rowing toward the city. Tony waited until she was out of earshot, but not so far he couldn’t catch her.

            “Orca to _Titanic_ ,” he whispered over his radio.

            “We read you, Orca, go ahead.”

            “I’ve got a woman leaving Entebbe in a rowboat, heading east toward the mainland. Hair is too long for it to be Henderson or Smith.”

            “Life-sign just suddenly appeared a few minutes ago. I’ve got her on sonar now.”

            “Should I try to capture her for questioning? Me ’n’ Ahab could take that rowboat, easy.”

            “What do her clothes look like?”

            “Old and shabby. Homemade.”

            “Probably a native. Doubtful she speaks English and we don’t have an interpreter. I’m guessing she’s going to Marseille for supplies, which means she’ll be coming back. Maybe she can show us the way in.”

            Tony looked down at his diving watch. Darwin was acting a little strange, swimming around him impatiently. Maybe he was upset they weren’t going to capsize the boat. “I got another hour, but it’s gonna take her longer than that to row all the way to the mainland, buy stuff, and get back.”

            “We’ll keep an eye out for her from here and make sure someone is watching when she returns.”

            “Copy, _Titanic_. I got a little more on those black walls. They ain’t see-through. I think it’s rock that’s been polished or somethin’. You know, like a tombstone?”

            “Polished black rock, like maybe granite or marble?”

            “Yeah, real shiny. The refection hurts my eyes.”

            “Anything else? How big is it?”

            “I got no way to tell. I think it’s almost round though. The walls are flat and it’s got lots of sides, like fifteen or twenty. Still haven’t seen a door or window.”

            “Good work, Orca. What are you doing next?”

            “I’m gonna finish my trip around the island, see if I can find a door on that building. Ask Neptune to bring the…” There was no code word for ‘vocorder’, but the device was still classified. “Ask him to bring Cap’n Ahab’s _special_ radio.”

            “Understood. Will relay to Neptune. _Titanic_ out.”

            Tony reached out to Darwin. “Hey, buddy, Nichols is bringing the vocorder out so you can tell us what’s bugging you. But his shift’s not for another hour. We’ve got until then to check out the east and the south of this island, see if we can find out how to get behind the dark walls where our friends are.”

            The dolphin clicked and chirped for quite a bit longer than Tony thought he usually did for a simple ‘yes’.

            “Okay, if you’re chewin’ me out for not bringing it out with me, I guess I deserve that. Sorry.”

            Darwin let out a few more whistles, but quieted soon after. He probably knew he wasn’t understood and was saving it up for when he had the vocorder and could really let Tony have it.

            Tony returned to his orbital tour, watching the swiftly shrinking rowboat almost as much as the shiny black walls that never broke their relentless monotony. When he came full circle on the south face, he sighed and headed back toward where the shuttle was. A glance at his watch showed his three hours were up, so Nichols was probably already on his way.

            Nichols surfaced within four feet of Tony’s face, scaring the bejeebers out of him. “Sorry I’m late. Took me a while to figure out how to carry the vocorder.” He had the receiver in hand, but he’d let the pickup wires just trail behind him in the water. Darwin swam up, saw the familiar yellow device, and started clicking away. Nothing happened. Nichols frowned. “I had Forrester check the batteries. This should work.”

            “It’s not that part. It’s the pickups. Lemme go grab ’em.” Tony dove down and found the ends of the sound collectors. He brought them back up and carefully positioned them by the dolphin. “Darwin? Can you understand me now?”

            “Darwin understand.”

            Tony grinned. “Good boy. Was there something you wanted to say?”

            Another cascade of chirps and clicks. “High sounds.”

            Nichols arched a brow. “High sounds? What does that mean?”

            Tony answered, “Not a clue.” He turned to Darwin. “Are you mad? Is ‘high sounds’ your way of raising your voice to tell us off?”

            “High sounds come from dark walls.”

            “What do you mean, high sounds?” Tony asked.

            “High sounds come from dark walls,” he repeated.

            Nichols rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, I’m going to start scouting around. See if you can get Forrester to make sense out of that.”

            “Will do. Catch you on the radio.”

            Tony gave Darwin a farewell pat and dove underwater to find the shuttle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/1069/sap05_lcr01452_p.jpg
> 
> This is what they were expecting. Photo taken in 1905.
> 
> http://www.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/memoire/1070/sap05_lcr01500_p.jpg
> 
> Wider shot showing surrounding islands.


	26. Chapter 26

            Nathan opened his eyes and sighed. Waking up was always depressing. It meant leaving the dream world where Darwin enveloped him with a sense of peace and hope, to once again face a reality which was as antipodal as one could get to the dream world.

            His back was getting better. It hurt if he put any pressure against it or if he gave it any thought while moving, but he could ignore it most of the time. Far more damaging was the feeling of helplessness as he watched while other members of his crew were tortured and maimed, or forced to make impossible choices, then piled with guilt over matters beyond their control.

            He couldn’t stop thinking about Lucas. The poor kid shouldn’t have been brought here just because he happened to be on the bridge at the wrong time. He shouldn’t have been whipped to shreds just for some madman’s sadistic pleasure. And he damn well shouldn’t have been led to believe Ford’s and Brody’s dismemberments were in any way his fault.

            But he understood how it felt. Nathan couldn’t shake the guilt over choosing O’Neill to have his hearing destroyed in the most horrendous way. Tim had made it easier by reminding Nathan of the airtight military logic which condemned him and in so doing, communicating his willingness to make the sacrifice in the place of Ortiz. But all the self-sacrifice and logic in the world just didn’t shake that gnawing, illogical guilt. _He_ had spoken the words that resulted in the thrust of those cruel spikes. He’d never forget the scream and the contorted face of agony that heralded the end of the career of the best communications officer in the fleet.

            At least Tim had prospects. He could translate documents for the UEO or just about any country or university in the world. It wouldn’t be hugely different from what he was doing now. Nathan also had the consolation that Tim acquiesced to his fate. Lucas had neither such comforts. Ford was career Navy and while there was sure to be some sedate public relations job he could do for his family’s agriculture business, Nathan couldn’t imagine Jonathan being remotely happy doing it and he doubted Lucas could perform the mental gymnastics to imagine it either. Thinking about Brody was even worse. Maybe he could channel his competitive spirit into the Paralympic Games or something. Would Lucas’s guilt be at all assuaged by any such reasoning?

            If only he could _talk_ to Lucas. The teen needed to be reminded that _he_ hadn’t brought those men here or forced their legs under the guillotines. _He_ didn’t re­lease those blades. He needed to be reassured Ford and Brody didn’t blame _him_. That insane Frenchman was toying with Lucas’s mind and that was just as heinous as all the other tortures he inflicted.

            But Nathan couldn’t talk to Lucas or visit his maimed officers. He was stuck in this bleak cell, wasting away, breathing his own stench, growing a beard to rival Rip van Winkle, and wracking his brains for an inkling of how to bring about any change. He sighed again and forced himself to stand. Until his crazy dreams stopped, he would guard his strength and his health as much as possible. Hungry or not, he ate the bland rations that appeared each morning and he spent some of that monotonous span of daylight doing whatever calisthenics he could manage in his meager allotment of space. True, he’d taken it easier when his back was tender, but he forced himself to work through the pain.

            After he’d channeled his considerable frustrations into exhaustion, he still had too much time left before it was reasonable to sleep. Tedious hours alone in the cell were hard, but darkness added another level of desolation. He preferred to spend the darkness sleeping as much as possible, and therefore avoided sleeping during daylight.

            Unless the Frenchman had theatrics planned, the window above and behind his chair was generally left transparent. Despite the appearance of glass, it was as strong and solid as any other part of the walls. If he stood atop his chair, he could stare out at the endless sea. From the way the sun rose and set, he’d determined his cell faced SSW, and if they truly were near Marseille, as they’d been told, then the sea he stared at was the Mediterranean.

            The lush expanse of crystal blue was at once comforting and disheartening. Nathan could see the crests of waves and watch the square-rigged sails fill with wind, but he couldn’t taste the salt in the air, hear the waves crash on the rocks, or feel the breeze on his face. The sea was his friend and companion, his comfort and his curse. Yet it stretched out before him, just out of reach—unable to be touched, smelled, or felt. And though it held the promise of escape and freedom, it mocked him through invisible stone, like those stupid vid-screen landscapes people hung on their walls to simulate a window.

            Even though it mocked him, Nathan couldn’t resist staring out at the expanse and allowing himself to be mesmerized by the silent rhythms and the peaceful glide of the majestic old ships across the plane of blue. He hadn’t signaled that message of hope to Lucas without believing it completely himself, but he was nevertheless surprised when just a few days later, he saw a dolphin breaching near a carrack headed in toward Marseille.

            _No. It couldn’t be. Could it?_

            Darwin was thousands of kilometers away, in the Black Sea. Nathan knew he was trying to reach them, but even if his friend knew how to get here, he shouldn’t have been able to get here this quickly. It had to be another dolphin. And since any dolphin was a welcome sight, he watched the happy creature jumping along with boundless energy. The carrack veered east, toward the harbor. It would be out of Nathan’s line of sight before it got very close. He sometimes wished he could trade views with Ford, so he could see the ships more closely and watch the busy bay. Did Jonathan find the sea and its ancient vessels as mesmerizing as he did? Could he even stand on his chair to look out the window with one leg?

            Oddly, while the carrack turned a good 45 degrees, the dolphin remained on an almost perfect north heading. He hoped Lucas could see this dolphin headed straight toward his cell. Then again, it might be too depressing for him to see another dolphin that wasn’t Darwin.

            When Nathan reckoned it about a mile away, the dolphin stopped breaching. At first, Nathan thought he headed back out to sea. He watched, curious as much as bored. But while looking for the dolphin to surface again, he noticed a spherical bump just the size of… a _human_ head. The way it moved looked very much like the way a swimmer would move.

            _I’ve finally lost it. Years of living alone on an island and now weeks of torture have finally made me lose my mind_. Humans couldn’t just suddenly appear in the middle of the ocean _unless_ … Could _seaQuest_ have made it out of the Black Sea? Surely he was hallucinating what he wanted to see. A random dolphin wasn’t implausible. Dolphins were native to the Mediterranean, and from what Nathan had seen of the fishing boats, they would probably be less endangered now than in his own time. But a human surfacing in the middle of nowhere? He almost shook his head to clear his thoughts and make certain he was awake. _No, I better not_. If the Frenchman were watching his cell, any reaction from Nathan would draw attention.

            If he _wasn’t_ hallucinating, and Darwin really _was_ here with anyone from the _seaQuest_ , then Nathan wanted to make sure they kept the tactical advantage of stealth. He’d spent enough days staring out at ships and waves and clouds that simply watching wouldn’t cause any concern. He allowed himself a tiny grin. While he watched the small dark sphere inch its way through the water, his mind cranked into overdrive.

            _I can’t be certain the dolphin was Darwin, or this spherical illusion is a human with him, but just for the sake of argument, how **could** it be?_

            Maybe _seaQuest_ found a way to deepen the Turkish Straits. If she rode on the surface, she’d probably be seen, and while Nathan was slightly worried about the anachronistic effects on the timeline, he would have done the same thing to rescue any _one_ of those who were here with him. However, deepening a channel wasn’t easy. They had plenty of explosives, but blowing up a rock only makes the pieces smaller, it doesn’t remove the rock. They would still have to move the debris into areas where it was deeper, or onto land. Conceivable, but extremely time-consuming, no matter how he looked at it. They’d be here a few more years before that could have happened.

            Darwin might have swum the whole way. If he left the same day they were captured and never rested, he could be just now getting here. But the dreams hadn’t started until right after O’Neill’s beating. Nathan reasoned Tim and Wendy figured out some way to contact Darwin telepathically. The later starting date didn’t give Darwin enough time, and it didn’t explain how any of the human crew could have come along.

            The only explanation was a shuttle launch. Packing enough fuel would have been problematic, but _seaQuest_ had the fuel in inventory. A shuttle was small enough to get through the Straits and fast enough to have made it here from the Black Sea. It was probably holding position a mile away, hiding below the surface. It wouldn’t have to be very deep, as none of these wooden ships had much hull displacement. Without sonar, vessels could pass over them all day long without a clue.       

            If he accepted a launch lying out there under the surface, what did that mean? For one thing, it meant _people_ knew where they were, not just Darwin. As much as he loved his dolphin friend, the spunky little cetacean had limits: it was physically impossible for him to storm the island and rescue all the prisoners. Nathan couldn’t imagine more than two crewmen could have fit on the shuttle with the extra fuel they had to haul, but even two men were better than none.

            As the sphere grew larger and more flesh color appeared, Nathan could see a triangular dorsal fin just ahead of it. By this time, he was convinced the sphere was a human head. It was still a tiny speck and if he didn’t keep an extremely close eye on it, it was easy to lose. The closer it got, the more he believed it was Piccolo. No other human could breathe with so much of his face submerged, unless he was using SCUBA gear, but then why surface at all? Piccolo had appeared in the dreams. If any of this was really happening, then Piccolo being here made just as much sense as Darwin being here.

            _All right. For now, I am going to accept what my senses are telling me as a working postulate. Darwin and Piccolo are here and someone else is piloting the shuttle that’s parked about a mile out. What can they do and is there any way I can help them?_

            He couldn’t wave or gesture. Beauregard would see that long before Piccolo would. There was no way Tony didn’t already know the bridge crew was here. He had come too far to such an obscure location, it couldn’t be coincidence. Nathan had every reason to believe their prison was visible. He’d seen the walls become transparent, translucent, and one-way, even dissolve completely, but they had never once bent light like the suits Piccolo had stumbled upon in the Amazonian Confedera­tion. While the wall material could become invisible itself, it couldn’t cause whatever was behind it to become invisible too. It would make no sense at all for the Frenchman to make the prison walls invisible from the outside. The building material and architecture alone were reason enough to arouse suspicion.

            The only point to capturing attention would be to reveal something to aid their rescue. Unfortunately, Nathan didn’t have a clue how to help. He was more than a little worried Piccolo might instead become another inmate and then they’d all have to watch the big brutes thrash his back into a bloody mess, gills and all.

            Darwin was the only one who was reasonably safe, and him only as long as no one gave any indication of caring. Even then, Beauregard would have to catch him. Nathan smirked at the thought. Without his infernal knockout gas and paralyzer hypo, that sadist didn’t stand a chance at slowing the dolphin down, and water was one place where Hans and Frans were useless.  

            His attention snapped back to the slowly-growing sphere out there. He couldn’t see anything of the dolphin but the tip of his dorsal fin, and the head was just a small, fuzzy ball, but the skin and hair color were right for Piccolo. The tiny objects remained on a due-north course until they approached so close that his view would be blocked by the elevation if they came any closer. Nathan held his breath, wondering if Piccolo would come up on the beach. It wasn’t a strategically good idea to walk up here, alone, in broad daylight. Piccolo would be captured and that would be the end of that.

            The dolphin and human turned west. Nathan released his held breath. He watched them swim laterally as long as he could without turning his head. Once they were out of his peripheral vision, he imagined which cells they were passing and who might see them if they happened to be looking out the window. In a way, he hoped no one was watching. Someone else might get too excited and draw attention to the sight. Piccolo had such a small chance to begin with, if they took away the element of surprise, the slim chance diminished to almost nothing.

            Then again, his crew wasn’t stupid. Everyone knew by now they were constantly being watched. Only those who had the dream could possibly figure out the small sphere dragged through the waves by an even smaller triangle was actually Tony and Darwin. The idea was so ridiculous even _with_ the dream. Nathan hadn’t really been looking for them. They just appeared like a whim and his crazy, tortured mind ran off with assumptions and theories.

            The captain stared back out at the spot where he’d first seen Piccolo’s head. That was probably where the shuttle was. He ran through all the qualified pilots, trying to guess who might be out there waiting. Was it someone with ground assault experience, who could set the shuttle on the seabed somewhere and come to help with this almost-impossible rescue mission?

            Unless there had been casualties Nathan wasn’t aware of, Chief Kendall was in command. The man was a brilliant engineer, almost as brilliant as Hitchcock had been, but he wasn’t trained in ground maneuvers, nor had he ever shown much ambition to lead anyone but wrench turners and instrument monitors.

            The chief had most likely stayed in the Black Sea with _seaQuest_. But who would he send? Ever since placing ground operations into the capable hands of Lieutenant Brody, Nathan hadn’t concerned himself with those matters anymore. God, how he wished Brody had been left on _seaQuest_. Not only would he still have his leg, but he’d be leading the rescue and everyone’s chances would be so much greater. _Don’t think about that now_ , he chided himself.

            Hours passed. Nathan knew it would take quite a while to swim around the island, but he had nothing better to do but wait and watch. He stepped down from the chair, made a trip to the toilet, and then stretched his legs and arms, trying to maintain the appearance of normalcy for anyone watching. Because he couldn’t help himself, he started thinking about how _he_ would go about rescuing the bridge crew if he was out there in the shuttle with only Piccolo and Darwin to help him. It wasn’t a pleasant scenario to plan, especially without all the weapons and equipment he was used to having at his disposal on _seaQuest_.

            It seemed like the dolphin and the seaman were taking longer than they should have, but Nathan didn’t have his watch, nor did he know exactly what shape the island was. Finally, the head and fin appeared on the eastern side of his peripheral vision. He watched as they came full circle and then headed back out to sea. Just before Nathan reckoned them a mile out, another head popped up on the surface. The two heads conferred a while and then one disappeared while the other headed back toward the island. _Good. Both of you should get a look in person._

            Nathan watched as the new head made its circuit. Darwin took this one around in the opposite direction, a little slower, perhaps. Maybe the poor dolphin was getting tired or maybe the shuttle pilot was just a lousy swimmer and was just being dragged instead of helping with the effort. Try though he might, Nathan couldn’t make out the face.

            The new head disappeared to the east and reappeared a few hours later on the western side. The pair swam south, where Nathan fully expected them to disappear, but again, another head surfaced and conferred. Was this new head just Piccolo again or was it a third crewman? Either way, the captain was encouraged. Even if it were just two men in the rescue party, at least they were doing a thorough job at reconnaissance. As much as every fiber longed to be free of this horrible prison, Nathan could be patient a while longer if waiting would give these lone rescuers any better chance at success.

            _Just please, please, get us all out of here_.


	27. Chapter 27

            Nathan took a break from looking out the window. He did some more stretching and push-ups, energized by the notion he might be using his muscles soon in escaping from this place. He fantasized about sprinting to the ocean and plunging into the cool, salty water, quenching both his spirit and his body odor in one fell swoop.

            He went back to the window. Eventually, the shadows of day grew longer and the sun started to set. Nathan was so anxious for night he could barely contain himself. He would lie down soon so he could get a few hours of sleep before it was good and dark. He’d decided twenty-one hundred would be the optimal time to storm the prison, but he couldn’t be sure it was driven by an unbiased assessment of the risks and benefits or his personal need to have it happen yesterday.

            He had spent some time in the past looking out the window in the moonlight, but he needed the rest and he didn’t want to risk calling any attention to outdoor events just now. So he lay down on his stone bed, pressing his palm to the wall that separated him from Lucas. He somehow knew Lucas did this too and the sharing of the ritual made life a little more bearable.

            He wasn’t sure how long he slept, but he didn’t think he’d heard any noise to have wakened him from his sleep. He was just far too invigorated by the prospect of rescue to keep still. He stood and crept to the window. It was hard to gauge time accurately at night, but it was deeply dark and the crescent moon was low. Where was the ground assault? Just as he was about to go back to bed, his eye caught a bit of movement. Nathan squinted into the darkness, straining to see. The week moonlight illuminated the tiny white crests on the waves and the few scattered clouds scudding by in the sky, but otherwise, everything was black as pitch and deathly still.

            Again, he sensed movement. It wasn’t really seeing; it was more like feeling. Someone or something was outside and closer than the shore. He couldn’t have torn himself from the window now if he wanted to. The captain stared into the darkness, waiting. His patience was soon rewarded. Two men in long black wetsuits snuck toward Lucas’s outside wall. Moonlight revealed their faces: _Piccolo and Nichols_. The captain suppressed a sigh. _Trust your crew,_ he told himself _. They sent the best they could._

Beauregard was probably not watching. Demon or not, he still had to sleep. With all his pets sleeping and not providing any entertainment, this would be the most logical time for him to sleep too. Based on that logic, Nathan waited until Nichols was looking in the right direction and then waved. Nothing. He tried again with Piccolo, but it was futile. The window was obviously one-way and no one could see through from the outside. _Damn_.

            The frogmen crouched by the wall and explored the material with their hands and with some kind of scanner that glowed a faint green. Their heads moved in a way that suggested conversation, but the captain couldn’t hear them or see their lips moving. Eventually, they dis­appeared from his line of sight. Nathan would check out all sides to the building too, so this didn’t worry him. Sure enough, in twenty minutes, they had gone all the way around and were right in front of his wall.

            And then they turned and left.

            Nathan’s heart caught in his throat. He shook his head slowly as he watched their figures disappear into the darkness. What was going on? Was this some cruel mind-joke? _Why weren’t they…?_ He realized he had no idea how they should proceed. Even if they could hear him, he had no words of strength or wisdom to impart. He could yell, “Go rescue your crewmates!” all night long but it did no good when they asked, “How?” He had no answer. The crushing feeling of helplessness descended, heavier than ever.

            He stood at the window, staring out into the deep, black abyss. _I wouldn’t give up on you. Please don’t give up on us_. Minutes ticked off and nothing happened. They didn’t return. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this. He could almost believe this was another of the Frenchman’s cruel tortures. Get his hopes up only to dash them. They only element missing was a speech about his masterful “performance”.

            Weary and dejected, Nathan dragged his body back to the stone platform. He felt very inadequate and very old. Sleep came and went. The Darwin dream had the same content, but it didn’t feel peaceful any more. It felt like a cruel mockery. He was already awake when the morning gassing happened. He’d forgotten the food delivery didn’t come during natural sleep. The effect was the same though. He woke up to a new tray of bland rations and another weary, miserable day ahead of him.

            He stared at the food, debating whether he was ready to start a hunger strike to end all this. It had been two days now since Tim’s eardrum puncture. Experi­ence had proven that Beauregard never let more than three days pass between his little stage shows. Nathan could only hope the next spectacle didn’t involve Lucas. Worry for the teen tipped the scales in the hunger strike decision. He couldn’t quit as long as Lucas was counting on him.

            The captain ate and did his exercise, though less passionately than the day before. He avoided looking out the window for as long as he could. How could he face the beautiful, beckoning water knowing he was trapped and those who he thought came to rescue him and his fellow prisoners had given up?

            He considered lying back down despite his daytime rest rule. However, staring at the bleak walls while he wallowed in despair seemed worse than staring at the sparkling Mediterranean while he wallowed in despair. So he stepped atop the chair in order to lift his eyes to the sea.

            Then he saw her. How could he miss? After weeks of watching nothing but lumbering, square-rigged sailboats and clunky oared ships, the beauty that now met his eyes was so striking… so _elegant_. She was maybe two miles away—a twin-masted, Bermuda-rigged sailboat with tall, triangular sails and three hulls, like the fastest racing yachts from his own century. The masts and rails reflected light like they were covered in jewels or mirrors. The sails were not grimy, browning canvas, but ethereal wings, probably made of silk or nylon, and dyed in vibrant shades of neon blue, deep crimson, bright orange, and kelly green. Stitched or perhaps painted into the headsail was “skyQuest” in a bold, flowing script. And flying in the breeze from the highest mast, was a giant flag of the UEO.

            Nathan smiled and a single tear escaped his eye. _Forgive me for doubting you, my friends._

            Piccolo and Nichols had just been the advance scouts, doing recon. They weren’t bumbling through some futile mission that would get someone else captured and they weren’t backing down and deserting the bridge crew either. Furthermore, Nathan had to take back every estimation of Kendall’s leadership abilities he’d ever imagined. In less than two months, the man had designed and _built_ a trimaran, and then sailed it all the way from the Black Sea to France with only submariners to crew it!

            No doubt he’d brought some firepower along too. Probably nothing nuclear, since the keys for deployment had been around his and Ford’s necks at the time of their abduction. Nuclear weapons weren’t very useful when negotiating for release of prisoners anyway. Obliterating the prison, island, and ancient port of Marseille would be counter-productive to affecting a safe return. Although, if the blast also annihilated Monsieur Beauregard, Nathan thought it might be acceptable as a last resort.

            Kendall wouldn’t know that. He’d just bring whatever was most useful and expedient. That sleek, gorgeous trimaran was obviously built for speed, not for combat, but Nathan wasn’t going to make the mistake of under­estimating his chief engineer again. If someone claimed it could launch St. Elmo’s fire, he’d believe it.

            He watched, not hiding his admiration. He didn’t worry whether the Frenchman noticed anymore. In fact, maybe he should just point out the window and start screaming. _SkyQuest_ wasn’t trying to hide. Those tall, colorful sails practically begged for attention. Whatever their plan of attack was, they weren’t relying on surprise. Maybe the sight of that formidable ship heading this way would scare Beauregard into surrender.

            Nathan kept watching, glued to his window. The _skyQuest_ was incredibly fast, closing the distance far faster than any boat or ship he’d seen since landing here. In fact, she seemed too fast to be real. Just as he started to doubt his senses again, he realized what all the reflective “jewels” were on the masts and rails. _Solar collectors_. The trimaran _looked_ like a sailing vessel, and it definitely used the wind, but it also used energy from the sun, probably to power a propeller or water jet drive. _Ingenious!_

            As she came closer, Nathan could see men running about the deck in their navy blue jumpsuits. But most impressive was the immense figure stationed on the prow wearing nothing but a pair of Bermuda shorts. He stood with legs apart in a dramatic pose that suggested a hunter throwing a spear. At that size, and with skin mottled like camouflaged fabric, it could only be Dagwood. He was probably just enjoying the ride, but someone had positioned him like a living figurehead.

            Finally, it was time for payback.


	28. Chapter 28

            Tony did a double-take when he saw the _skyQuest_. He’d been on the other side of If Island when it was approaching, so his first glimpse was at about two miles. Brightly colored triangular sails and that triple hull were clues enough, but the UEO flag and “skyQuest” emblazoned in the front-most sail clinched it. _Dang, how did they build a sailboat so fast? And speaking of fast… she is really ripping._ He dove underwater and listened. Sure enough, there were motor sounds. It could have been _MR-3_ , but Tony couldn’t think of any reason the launch would need to move right now. Her propulsion had been shut down since they got here to conserve fuel. Life support and a few depth stabilizers were all she needed to maintain position. This was a big prop, or maybe water jets, like the kind they used on recreational PWCs.

            “Nice of you to join us, _skyQuest_ ,” Tony said into his radio. “I’m about two miles directly ahead of your bow, so watch where you’re goin’.”

            “We’ve got you on sonar, Orca.” It was Kendall’s voice. “We’re not coming in that close just yet. I think we need a face-to-face briefing. After you get aboard _Titanic_ , let’s move her somewhere we can confer without us being in the middle of the sea lanes. I’m thinking between Ratonneau and Pomègues.”

            While he wouldn’t try to guess how to spell them, Tony recognized the names of the larger islands because he’d let the computer read him the files. “I thought we couldn’t get there, ’cause they put in piers.”

            “The piers were built at least 300 years after the château. If we’re too early for the château, then we’re too early for just about everything else. Can Cousteau can hold down the fort so the rest of you can come pay us a visit?”

            “Triton, this is Cousteau on _Titanic_. That’s affirmative on holding down the fort.”

            “Much thanks for that, Cousteau. Follow us in and set down close by. There’s a subsurface airlock on the center hull, portside aft. It was built to accom­modate Captain Ahab, so please invite him along.”

            Tony affirmed first: “Aye, aye, Triton. Ahab’s with me now. Give me a few minutes to reach _Titanic_.”

            Forrester’s voice said, “Neptune and Poseidon are suiting up.”

            “Copy that, Cousteau _._ We’ll leave the porch light on. _SkyQuest_ out.”

            The regal trimaran veered northwest toward the rendezvous point, but curiously, it didn’t take the extreme western course behind the large island, which would have hid it more effectively from If. Tony had to hand it to Kendall: the guy had balls. He was going to sail right past If.

            Darwin seemed to sense the sailboat was friendly because he turned toward it. Tony let go of the dorsal fin and whipped out the portable vocorder. “Chief Kendall is on that sailboat. I have to go with the launch, but we’re going to meet them in a little while. You want to come with us or swim by yourself?”

            “Darwin stay with Tony.”

            Tony wasn’t sure whether he felt babysat or befriended. “Okay, buddy. The launch is this way.” He gently directed the dolphin’s beak to the south.

            Darwin didn’t bother clicking a reply. He probably knew where the shuttle was even better than Tony did. The human had to rely on portable instruments and sight while the dolphin had echo-location. He just nodded amiably and waited for his swimming companion to secure the vocorder before moving on. Tony boarded the shuttle through the diving airlock, but they didn’t dare surface. _SkyQuest_ was innovative for this era, but a submarine might be taken for a sea monster or worse. They were way too close to the harbor right now. Darwin was perfectly capable of following them to the rendezvous.

            Nichols and Tate piloted the launch while Forrester sat in back, shuffling handwritten papers. The scientist had taken extensive notes during radio conversations and various discussions in _MR-3_ during all their recon trips. “I’m sending all my notes with you, Piccolo.”

            “Got it, Doc. You sure you’re okay with being here alone?”

            Forrester grinned. “Are you _kidding_? My notes are going to help plan what is sure to be the rescue of the century and Kendall is trusting me to watch an expen­sive piece of equipment rather than throw me in some dinky cabin and tell me to stay out of everyone’s way. I couldn’t be happier.”

            Tony shook his head, chuckling. “Well, if you put it _that_ way, okay.” The civilian would probably be safest here anyway. _SkyQuest_ was fast and Tony didn’t think Kendall was so thick as not to bring some weapons, but that didn’t mean his vessel was invincible. Her hulls didn’t look like wood, but he was pretty sure a cannonball would knock a hole in her, no matter what kind of polymer or fiberglass those engineers had cooked up. Sails were probably flammable, too. The UEO’s best naval officers had been snatched right off the bridge of the most sophisticated submarine of 2022. There was no telling what kind of weapons they were up against.

            If the worst happened, Forrester could always get back to the Black Sea. He was smart and he still had a radio. Someone from _seaQuest_ could talk him through.

            Tony didn’t bother trying to dry off much, just enough so he didn’t drip everywhere. They arrived at the coordinates within twenty minutes. Tate and Nichols donned SCUBA gear for the first time since leaving _seaQuest_. Kendall had said to enter from underwater—pretty darn sneaky idea, building an airlock into the hull of a sailboat.

            Darwin played escort between the two airlocks, which was fortunate, since Tony promised to bring him along. The horizontal airlock on the _skyQuest_ was much more dolphin-friendly than the vertical one on the shuttle, and there was room for two at once. Inside, there was a tank of seawater about quadruple the size of the portable tank on the shuttle. It took up the entire bow section of the hull, to a depth of three feet. Tony saw vocorder electrodes already in place. Darwin swam right into it.

            “Welcome aboard, Captain,” Kendall said, rubbing Darwin’s melon. “Sorry we couldn’t make the tank bigger.” He turned to Tony and offered his hand to help him stand. “Piccolo.”

            “Thanks. Tate and Nichols are right behind me.” He looked around and couldn’t resist repeating the same line he’d said when he first boarded _seaQuest_ : “Nice digs.”

            Kendall slapped him on the back. “Not bad for engineers and science geeks, eh?”

            Tony grinned as he tilted his head and slapped his temple with the heel of his palm to get the water out of his ears. The chief pressed a button to seal the airlock and reset it for the next two arrivals. Lights on a control panel let him know when the door was shut so he could open the outer hull door again.

            “We have to open the outer door manually,” Kendall said apologetically.

            Tony snorted. “What, no time to design an automated system?”

            The engineer started cranking. The door made a ratcheting sound as it slowly opened. “That and no materials either. Not like I could requisition parts. We had to build her with what we had on hand, or what we could scrounge up. None of the locals had watertight motor housings.”

            “Hey, you don’t gotta explain it to _me_. I think it’s cool you got an underwater door at all.”

            Kendall shrugged. “Had to make our captain feel welcome on his own boat.”

            “I bet Brenton loved that.”

            “He wasn’t on the building committee or the sailing crew. I don’t care what he thought. It wasn’t only for Darwin anyway. We can launch an amphibious assault, completely undetected, while keeping _skyQuest_ anchored at a safe distance.”

            “As a decoy.”

            The XO nodded. “Exactly.”

            A light indicated the divers had pressed the ready button from the inside. Kendall cranked in the opposite direction to close the hull door. A ‘thunk’ sounded when the door slipped into its slot and sealed. “That means we can let them in.” Kendall flipped a switch and a hum sounded while the inner door slid back, revealing a diver disguised by SCUBA gear.

            Tony looked through the mask and recognized Tate. He removed his mouthpiece. “Permission to come aboard?”

            Kendall offered a hand up even as he chuckled. “Don’t ask me. Captain’s over there.” He crooked the thumb of his free hand in the direction of the big tank.

            Once Tate was standing, he helped Nichols up. He pulled off his mask and mouthpiece, then silently gestured with his head for Tony and Tate to line up beside him. Tony had been out of the military loop so long, he almost blurted out, “What?” but he caught himself just in time and scooted into place.

            The three of them saluted together. Nichols spoke for them all. “Petty Officer Nichols, Seaman Tate, and Seaman Piccolo reporting for duty, sir.”

            Kendall returned the salute. “As you were. I called this meeting to plan our attack. Who do you think we should include?”

            Tate chuckled. “We don’t even know who you brought.”

            “I saw Dagwood on deck,” Tony said. “We need him, for sure.”

            “Really? I only brought him because he can man the capstan by himself.”

            “Cap-what?” Tony asked.

            “It’s a big winch-like thing. We didn’t have a pneumatic windlass. All those big ships out there have capstans, but they need four guys to operate theirs. It’s for raising the anchor.”

            “I thought we were planning to leave _skyQuest_ anchored as the decoy while we went in.”

            “Well, we don’t want to cripple her completely. We can’t get everyone back to _seaQuest_ without her.”

            “Uh, Chief, you remember the bridge security records, don’t you?” Did he have to spell it out? A couple of big brutes had carried off their people, two at a time.

            Understanding dawned in Kendall’s eyes. “Oh yeah. Good thinking, Piccolo. Has he ever used SCUBA gear?”

            Tony shrugged. “Heck if I know.”

            “But GELFs can hold their breath a real long time,” Nichols put in.

            Tate cast a glance at the airlock. “I don’t think you made this exit big enough for Dagwood and a SCUBA tank anyway.”

            “So let’s lower him from the deck and let him swim with me and Darwin,” Tony said. “If he has to come up for air a couple times, so what? No one is watch­ing the water for swimmers, or we’d all have been captured while doing recon.”

            Nichols and Tate nodded assent. Kendall didn’t even look at them. He was already convinced. “Dagwood is yours. Who else?”

            “How about you give us anyone who isn’t needed here?” Nichols suggested.

            The chief nodded. “Done. I’ll stay back with Vinson, Gaines, and Hernandez. The four of us can raise the anchor if need be. That leaves Dagwood, Bishop, Clark, Parker, and Sanders to go with you three. Darwin can go as far as he wants.”

            _Wow, sounds like the best soldiers **seaQuest** had left_ , Tony thought.

            Nichols counted on his fingers, then his jaw dropped. “You sailed all the way from the Black Sea with just a crew of nine?”

            Kendall nodded. “Had to. We couldn’t build _skyQuest_ any bigger and she has to hold eleven more for the return trip. Will _you_ have enough to do _your_ job?”

            “Let’s get all of them in here and brainstorm. We’ll _make_ it enough.”


	29. Chapter 29

            Kendall compelled everyone to come to the briefing, even those who were staying on _skyQuest_. “I want everyone to know what’s going on, so we’re all prepared if anything goes wrong.” He held it in the wet room near Darwin’s tank, but it was probably just because that was the largest area on the sailboat. Tony couldn’t see any reason the dolphin needed to be present. Darwin could do a lot of stuff, but he couldn’t walk on land and he couldn’t follow complex conversations. Maybe he was just there to remind everyone how far they’d come and what was at stake, sort of like a mascot, but with power.

            Tony didn’t doubt Kendall would relieve Darwin of command if he felt it necessary, but he was pretty sure the chief would give the acting captain a lot of leeway when it came to benefit of doubt. After all, they had nothing but Darwin’s word and circumstantial evidence that their bridge crew was on that island, behind those shiny black walls. If Darwin was wrong, this whole trip was for nothing. And if Darwin suddenly ordered them to halt the rescue operation, Kendall would at least consider it.

            “Nichols, you said Forrester found a way in?” Kendall asked when everyone had settled down.

            “I got his notes,” Tony blurted out. Nichols glared at him for speaking out of turn. “Uh, sorry,” Tony muttered.

            “Let’s see them, Piccolo,” Kendall said absently even as he snapped his attention back to Nichols. “Go ahead with what you were going to say.”

            Tony removed a waterproof case from his swim trunks pocket, opened it, and pulled the papers out. He unfolded the layers and finger-pressed the creases out, but he kept his mouth shut and listened to Nichols.

            “Darwin said ‘high sounds’ right after Piccolo saw the woman in the rowboat. Forrester thought he could mean high-pitched, as in, ultrasonic—something dolphins can hear but humans can’t. So we brought a wideband sensor out when she returned from Marseille. Sure enough, when she got back to the building, an ultrasonic tone was emitted right before the wall disappeared. She went through with two bags of stuff and then bam! The opening changed right back to solid. We checked all the walls later that night. They all look the same. There are no knobs or buttons or anything else that looks like it would open them.”

            “Did you try using ultrasonic waves when you got there?”

            “No. You said to observe and report. It was just me and Piccolo. If we tried it and it worked, they would know we knew how to get in and we’d probably got ourselves captured.”

            “Good thinking.” Kendall reached for Forrester’s notes. “Looks like the tone is 30.7 kilohertz.”

            Sanders spoke up. “All we gotta do is say ‘open sesame’ with a high enough pitch, and we’re in?”

            Dagwood cocked his head. “I can say ‘open sesame.’”

            Tony slapped him on the back good-naturedly. “Sorry, big guy. Your voice is too low.”

            Parker laughed. “You know what they say, ‘It ain’t over ’til the fat lady hits that high note.’ We’re gonna hit the high note and it’s gonna be over.”

            Tony frowned. “Don’t tell me we gotta bring opera music with us.”

            “No, Piccolo, no human can sing _that_ high. I think Darwin could make the right sound, but he isn’t leaving the water. We’ve got ultrasonic emitters we can carry with us. But it’s like microwaves. You won’t hear it.”

            _Microwaves?_ What, now they were going to cook the walls? That wasn’t much better than having a fat lady sing. Whatever happened to good, old-fashioned explosives? After days of living in that cramped launch, worrying about Lucas and the others, Tony was ready to bust some heads, and he wasn’t really interested in doing it figuratively.

            Kendall found a diagram in Forrester’s notes and spread it out for all to see. It was a rough map of the island and a good representation of the building. “Forrester said the building is a dodecagon. It’s twelve equal sides.”

            “We didn’t measure or count them. How’d he know that?” Tony asked.

            Kendall laughed and pointed at the scribbles beside the map. “Geometry, Piccolo. He got a couple of angle measurements from the water, using reflection and a compass. You could all see it looked circular. Not bad math for a marine biologist, really.”

            “Which side did the woman go in?” someone asked.

            “Due north,” Tate answered.

            “So do we storm the front door or try sneaking in the back?” Nichols touched the north and south walls on the diagram.

            Kendall scratched his chin. “We don’t know if any other wall has one of these invisible doors that opens with ultrasonics, but what would it hurt to try? Walking in the front door doesn’t seem like the best idea unless we have no other choice.”

            Everyone mumbled agreement to this.

            “Do we have any idea how many are on the enemy side? We know about the two big dudes and this woman. Did you see any more than that?” Bishop asked.

            “The guy with the French accent may be one of the ‘big dudes’, or he may be a third man,” Kendall said.

            “Nope, we didn’t see anyone else,” Tony added.

            “So our eleven people are being held by three or maybe four? You’d think Brody and Ford would have had them overpowered by now,” Clark joked.

            “None of them have ultrasonic emitters,” Kendall said in a grave tone.

            “And Darwin says they’re all hurt,” Tony reminded.

            “What if they can’t swim back?” Tate asked. Leave it to the medic to worry how to transport stretchers through open sea.

            Kendall nodded, undaunted by the prospect. “Once the enemy is neutralized, we can bring _skyQuest_ right up on the beach. That’s another reason why I wanted to keep enough of us back to raise the anchor and set her sails.”

            Nichols glanced down at his diving watch. “Do you need sunlight to run? If so, we need to get moving. The sun sets in another three hours.”

            “We can run on wind, but we have more speed during the day. Does every­one feel ready to do this now? Should we wait for the cover of night?”

            “There aren’t any windows, so they’re probably operating on sensors,” Nichols said.

            Tony shook his head. “You think they knew we were there, but they just let us come up and check them out last night?”

            “Yes, I think they did,” Kendall said. “They probably wanted us to see it was impenetrable and hopeless, so we’d give up.”

            Tony scoffed. “They don’t know us very well.”

            “So when should you introduce yourselves?”

            No one spoke for several seconds.

            Dagwood broke the silence with his slow speech pattern. “If our friends are hurt, we should help them now.”

            Everyone nodded.

            “Dagwood’s right,” Kendall said. “Darkness doesn’t really offer any advantage. How soon can you all be ready?”

            Nichols looked around at his team. “Fifteen minutes enough?”

            Nods and grunts of assent proved it was. The ground team started to change clothes, since they were already in the wet room.

            “What kind of weapons did you bring?” Tony asked.

            “Standard UEO-issue sidearms, why?” He pushed a large box out of the corner and revealed the stash.

            “Oh, I dunno. Guess I was hopin’ all you brainiacs came up with somethin’ new and cool.”

            Kendall smirked. “We were a little preoccupied.”

            Tony waved him off like building a solar-powered trimaran with scrounged parts was old hat. Sure, he’d been impressed, but you couldn’t let these smarties get any bigger heads than they already had.

            Nichols sidled up to Kendall and whispered, “Are you giving Dagwood a sidearm?”

            The look in the chief’s eyes betrayed he hadn’t given it any thought. Tony looked up at the GELF. “Hey, Dag, you know how to use one of these?” He held up one of the weapons.

            Dagwood was straight and simple with his answer. “No.”

            “Does it make you feel unsafe if we don’t give you one?” He shoved the example behind his back, centering it between his gills, then pushed it under his waistband to hold it secure.

            “No. My hands are too big anyways.”

            “When we get inside, where the bad guys are, they might have guns or swords or something. Will you be afraid without a weapon? You don’t _have_ to go with us, you know.” Tony realized someone should have asked Dagwood before deciding to just draft him for this mission, but better late than never.

            “I want to help.”

            “All right, good. But you stay with me at all times, okay?” He was strong, but he wasn’t too bright and Tony didn’t want to see him get hurt.

            The big guy nodded. “Okay.”

            Kendall winked at Tony and mouthed, “Thanks.”

            Tony looked back at Dagwood. “Can you swim?”

            “Yes, but I don’t got a swimsuit.” He was still wearing Bermuda shorts, but he also wore a _seaQuest_ t-shirt now.

            “What you got on is fine. You can take the shirt off, if you want.” Dagwood started to peel off his shirt. Tony glanced at the tank where Darwin was floating slowly back and forth, his blowhole spraying regularly. “Hey Darwin, you ready to go rescue Lucas and Bridger?”

            The dolphin nodded enough to splash water at them. “Darwin ready!”

            “Well, I guess that settles it. Good luck to all of you.” Kendall made the rounds, shaking hands with every man who was going to be leaving _skyQuest_. This send-off was a little weird, but Kendall had never been in a position to send people on dangerous missions before and he was probably more nervous than Nichols was. He ended with the GELF. “Before you go, could you help me on the capstan again? We’re going to sail closer to the island before we let you all out to swim ashore.”

            Dagwood pumped Kendall’s hand twice and nodded. “Okay.”

            Kendall, Dagwood, and the other three who were staying behind climbed the ladder to the upper deck. Except for Nichols, Tate, and Tony, everyone was still getting dressed. Tony wasn’t going to exit through the airlock in the hull, so he really wasn’t needed anymore. “Nichols, I’m going uptop to wait for Dagwood. You guys got Darwin okay down here?”

            “Yeah. Go on, beat it,” he said.

            Tony climbed up on deck where a cool breeze blew. Dagwood turned the capstan by himself as easily as Tony would have pushed a merry-go-round for his cousins back home. Soon the anchor was up and Kendall activated the impeller jets. Looking out over the channel, Tony could see If Island and some other ships in the distance, but they were pretty far away. They probably couldn’t see _skyQuest_ ’s triple hull and without her colored sails, she didn’t look all that different. If anyone saw them moving without sails, they would probably assume it was water currents.

            The chief picked up his PAL. “ _Titanic_ , do you read?”

            “Loud and clear. I can see you’re moving. Should I follow?”

            “No, stay there, Cousteau. Just wanted to let you know we didn’t forget you or anything. Your notes were very helpful. Entebbe won’t know what hit it.”

            “That’s good to hear. Please let me know as soon as you have…”

            Tony knew why Forrester hesitated. They didn’t give code names to their kidnapped crew.

            “…Moby-Dick back where he belongs.”

            The chief grinned understanding. “Affirmative, Cousteau.”

            “Smooth sailing, _skyQuest_. _Titanic_ out.”

            Kendall put his PAL back in his belt holster. He muttered as he turned the boat’s steering wheel: “This is a whole lot easier without all that hoisting and tacking rigamarole. I sure hope you’re done before the sun sets so I don’t have to sail out of here the old-fashioned way.”

            “We will be,” Tony said, even though he knew Kendall didn’t expect an answer. He wasn’t even the team leader, so what did he know anyway?

            It only took fifteen minutes to get _skyQuest_ into position on the west coast of If and drop anchor again. Kendall hollered below deck for the team to start its exodus. Tony walked to the edge of the deck and took a peek overboard. There wasn’t a lot of room between the center hull and the starboard one, but enough for Dagwood and Tony to swim between them easily. It also wasn’t that far down. “Hey, Dag, how are you at heights? Can you jump off here?” It would save time and trouble if they didn’t have to mess with rope.

            The GELF lumbered over and looked down. Then he looked up at Kendall. “Can I go now, Chief Kendall, sir?”

            “Sure, Dagwood. Thanks for your help and be careful.”

            Dagwood grinned as he looked at Tony. His words were slow and unsure when he declared, “Last one in’s a rotten egg.” And then he just jumped off.

            Tony chuckled. He waited to see where the big guy surfaced before he jumped in after, yelling, “Here comes the rotten egg!”

            Still between the hulls and their heads above water, he whispered. “I got gills, so I can stay underwater all day long. You just come up for air when you need to, okay?”

            “Okay,” Dagwood said. He drew a deep breath and dove down, swimming a nice frog stroke.

            Dagwood was a lot faster in the water than on land and Tony struggled to keep up. Luckily Darwin saw them and took pity. He offered his dorsal fin and Tony readily accepted. He’d never live it down if Dagwood beat him to shore. The water was clear enough to see the other divers swimming in deeper water. Having had a head start, Nichols’ group was ahead at first, but Dagwood and Darwin were quickly overtaking all of them.

            Dagwood only had to surface once to get another lungful of air. He didn’t even seem winded and returned to his frog-stroking with gusto. They made it to the beach first and helped the other guys take off their SCUBA tanks. Darwin swam a nervous circle just far enough away to avoid the waves crashing on the rocks.

            Weapons drawn, Nichols led everyone toward the south-facing wall of the big black building, Tony and Dagwood bringing up the rear. They divided themselves in half without saying a word and lined up on opposite sides, taking a defensive posture with their weapons trained on the shiny black granite.


	30. Chapter 30

            Nichols pulled out his ultrasonic emitter and pressed a button. Dagwood clapped his hands over his ears, but Tony didn’t hear a thing. At the same time as Dagwood’s hands hit his head, the wall in front of them vanished into thin air. Inside was a small cell. A stone chair had been adjacent to the wall and now partially blocked their entrance. But the chair wasn’t empty. A single occupant sat with his back to them. The hair was long and unruly, but Tony recognized the plaid flannel shirt. “Lucas?”

            The poor kid jumped out of his skin. He swiveled in the chair. His face was sunken in and he looked like death warmed over—filthy skin, glazed eyes, and unkempt hair. His eyes grew wide at the sight of those gathered at the threshold, staring at him. “T—Tony? How?” He struggled to stand as Tony surged around the others to get to him.

            “You okay? Darwin said you were hurt.”

            His brows furrowed with confusion. “How did Darwin…?” The kid was standing now, staring at all his rescuers in a daze, like he didn’t believe they were actually there.

            Tony took Lucas’s arm and draped it over his own shoulder so the kid could lean on him. He then put his arm in the small of Lucas’s back to steady him.

            “Ow! Don’t touch the back! I can walk.”

            “Sorry.” Tony ducked and let Lucas’s arm down. He didn’t ask about the injury. If he could walk, then there’d be time for explanations after everyone was safe.

            “How’d you get in here?” Lucas was talking faster and seemed a little more coherent, like his brain was finally catching up to what was happening.

            “Ultrasonic emitter,” Nichols said, holding up the device.

            Lucas pointed to the wall on the left. A shelf with a pillow and blanket suggested this was where he slept. “Captain Bridger is in the next cell. Try it on that wall.”

            Nichols pointed it at the wall and pressed the button. The wall disappeared. A man with a long gray beard, very messy gray hair, and a wrinkled _seaQuest_ uniform stood on the back of a chair, identical to the one Lucas had been seated in. He jumped down and ran through the opening straight into Lucas. The two meshed together in a bear hug. Tony backed away a little, but he still heard Bridger whisper, “Hey, kiddo, you okay?”

            Lucas looked like he wasn’t gonna let go. The kid sniffled and his voice wavered when he said, “I’m fine.”

            “Sir,” Nichols said tentatively, “I don’t know how much time we may have.”

            Though he looked reluctant, Bridger broke the embrace and sized up the rescue team. “Get Lucas out of here,” he ordered.

            “Aye, sir, good to have you back.” Tony grinned as he moved toward Lucas to carry out the captain’s orders. He was already covering Dagwood, so it wouldn’t weaken the team for him to cover Lucas too.

            “No!” Lucas shouted. “I’m not leaving without Ford and Brody. They’ll need help.”

            “We’ll help them,” Nichols assured him.

            “No, you don’t understand. _Everyone_ is going to need help. There’s not enough of you.”

            Tony figured he was just being dramatic and didn’t change course. He gently grabbed Lucas by the elbow. “Come on, Luke. They’ve got it.”

            Lucas threw him off and turned to Bridger. “Captain, _please_. They can’t walk because of me. _Please_ let me help.”

            Bridger grabbed Lucas by the head, one hand over each ear. He looked Lucas straight in the eyes, just inches from his face. “You listen here. It is **_not_** your fault, you got that?”

            Tears fell down the kid’s face. He didn’t look like he could talk, but he nodded.

            “Good,” Bridger said. He let go of Lucas’s head, patted him on the shoulder, and turned back to Nichols. “Unfortunately, Lucas is right. We’re going to need him. He stays with us until we get everyone out.”

            “Aye, sir. Where to next?”

            Lucas explained fast. “They have an ultrasonic emitter that dissolves the walls.”

            “Excellent!” Bridger exclaimed. “Whatever you do, leave the center walls intact.” He pointed toward the shortest wall in his trapezoidal cell. “With any luck, that bastard Frenchman is playing in his theater and not watching his monitors.” He looked back and forth between the side walls, evidently trying to decide whom to rescue first.

            “Sir,” Tony said, “we have more than one emitter.”

            Bridger’s smile shone right through the long, scraggly beard. “Piccolo, remind me to recommend you for a promotion if we ever get back to the year where the UEO exists again.”

            Tony chuckled. “Yes, sir.”

            Bridger pointed left first. “Watts, Brody, Smith, and O’Neill are that way. When you’ve got the four of them, stop, or you’ll be walking into the warden’s office.”

            “Aye, aye.” Clark pointed the emitter at the wall and pressed the button. Tony didn’t see who was in the cell because he was listening to the rest of the captain’s orders.

            Bridger pointed right. “Ortiz, Henderson, Ford, Young, and Mitchell are that way. Stop after Mitchell and don’t dissolve any more walls.”

            “Aye, sir,” Nichols said as he ran back into Lucas’s cell.

            Bridger’s voice softened when he leaned toward Lucas. “Why don’t you help Brody? I’ll help Ford.”

            Lucas nodded and ran toward the left, through the already-open wall, passing Watts who was leaning heavily on Parker. Since the captain was headed the opposite direction, Tony figured he better keep an eye on Lucas, so he followed the left group. He sensed rather than saw Dagwood behind him, keeping his promise to stay close. Tony was glad they hadn’t run into the linebacker dudes, but it struck him this whole rescue was going too smoothly. He tried not to think about it and just focus on the job.

            Clark pointed the emitter again. The wall disappeared to reveal a bearded Brody sitting on a chair arm with his feet on the seat. His uniform was as wrinkled and dirty as the captain’s but one of the pants legs had been cut off just above the knee. Brody’s thigh had a nasty red scar at about the same place.

            Lucas surged ahead and yelled, “Your leg!”

            Brody jumped off the chair and hugged the kid, though not as intensely or as long as Bridger had. “I’m okay, Lucas. I don’t know if he surgically reattached it or never cut it all the way off, but it works, so I’m not complaining.”

            _Reattached? Cut it off?_ What the hell had been going on here? “You’re good to go, Lieutenant?” Tony asked.

            Brody nodded. “Yeah, thanks, Piccolo. Is _seaQuest_ waiting?”

            “Not exactly. But we do have transportation. Exit is at Lucas’s cell.” It appeared they all knew where each other’s cells were.

            Lucas tugged at Brody, but the lieutenant wasn’t leaving as long as O’Neill and Smith were still trapped. Tony figured it was easier just to keep dissolving walls and getting people out rather than trying to talk Lucas or Brody out of waiting. Clark wasn’t delaying in pointing and pressing that button.

            The cell that appeared when the next wall dissolved was a little different. It was obvious by the shape that it had originally been two cells, but the wall which divided them was already gone and in its place was a real bed. A double bed. Standing next to the bed was a disheveled and bearded Lieutenant O’Neill in boxers and a t-shirt, holding Dr. Smith like a groom about to cross into a honeymoon suite. She was wearing one of those slinky camisole thingies and a ripped skirt. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed or brushed in at least a month. Tony would never speak ill of a lady of Dr. Smith’s caliber, but she looked like crap.

            “I agree, Tony,” she said with a wink.

            Tony looked away, his cheeks heating with embarrassment. He was secretly glad she’d stopped him from letting his imagination take over, what with the bed and Tim in his underwear and all. He’d been wrong about her and the captain, so he wasn’t going to jump to any conclusions this time.

            “Dagwood!” O’Neill called with relief evident. “Can you carry Dr. Smith? She’s hurt and she can’t walk.”

            “Sure, Tim,” Dagwood said as he moved toward them. What was probably a hefty burden for the communications officer was almost nothing to the GELF. He held her in the same position, with one arm under her back and the other supporting her knees. She let go of Tim’s neck and grabbed Dagwood’s with her other hand.

            “Got her?” Tim asked.

            “Got her,” Dagwood confirmed. Tim backed away.

            Brody and Lucas were both watching Tim quizzically. O’Neill took one look at Brody’s leg and grinned. “I can hear too. I guess neither of us was hurt as badly as we were led to believe.”

            Brody clapped him on the back. “Yeah, well—”

            Tim doubled over in pain, wheezing like he couldn’t breathe. Lucas rushed to his side and took his arm.

            “Oh damn, O’Neill. I’m sorry,” Brody said. He cringed and shook his head hard, silently berating himself.

            Tim waved it off, but he didn’t try to talk.

            Dr. Smith craned her neck so she could see better, since Dagwood had carried her behind him. “Lieutenant? Are you all right?” Her words were formal, but her tone was pretty sweet. Not sweet enough to prove anything, but not clinical enough to disprove Tony’s original thoughts either.

            Tony couldn’t stand it any longer. “What is it with the backs? Is it ’cause you all been sleepin’ on stone beds or what?”

            Tim was still doubled over and breathing with difficulty. Tony noticed the back of his t-shirt, covered in blood. Lucas followed Tony’s gaze and saw his wide-eyed reaction.

            “That’s nothing,” Lucas grunted. He leaned over and whispered to Tim, “Can I show him?”

            The lieutenant either didn’t have the breath to speak, or he didn’t care. Lucas slowly lifted Tim’s t-shirt. Tony thought he was going to puke at the sight. He turned his whole body the other direction and clapped his hand tightly over his mouth.

            “Tim’s was the worst, but we were all beaten,” Lucas explained. “Mine was the first, so I’ve had the most time to heal. You didn’t hurt me that much when you touched me.”

            “Am I hurting you, Dr. Smith?” Dagwood asked.

            “No, Dagwood. He beat me on the feet instead of the back. My back is fine.”

            Brody felt badly for causing Tim pain, but he was also acting antsy, his eyes darting about the room and exchanging his weight back and forth between his feet. “Can you walk, Lieutenant? Dagwood can carry _you_ and I’ll carry the doctor. We need to get out of here before we’re caught.”

            Tony turned back around toward Lucas, keeping his hand over his mouth. Lucas had already replaced the shirt and Tim had straightened up. “You’re right,” Tim said. “Let’s get out of here.”

            They all jogged back toward Lucas’s cell, following the curve of the building. Tony noticed the cells had windows facing the exterior; it was still daylight outside. _Why couldn’t we see in from the outside?_ he wondered. He saw the captain waiting for them, standing next to a bearded African-American with the same bad tailor as Brody and the same nasty scar on his right thigh. Tony couldn’t wait to hear the story behind that. Then again, after seeing Tim’s back, maybe he didn’t want to know.

            The rescued and rescuers were scattered about the two rooms adjoining Lucas’s, both groups moving rapidly toward the exit. But before anyone could step foot on sandy soil, Tony heard that French dude say, “So nice of you to come and expand my collection!” and then a hiss of gas sounded from somewhere in the ceiling and darkness closed in.


	31. Chapter 31

            Beauregard smiled. Of course he’d seen the polychromatic sailboat coming. From miles away. _Morons_. Even without the obvious parallel name _skyQuest_ plastered on the front, it was clear she wasn’t from this time. Oddly, none of his research had revealed _seaQuest_ had any sort of surface vessel stashed aboard except for gasoline-powered outboards, which were too small to carry enough fuel for the distance. Something this big, with such an immense range, should have been in the history records. He chided himself for not having left the submarine in the Caspian Sea instead. No boat would have helped them then.

            However, after his initial irritation, he’d decided this wasn’t such a bad turn of events. He’d always intended to go back for more of the crew once his original specimens died off. Having them come to him saved a trip and would only cost him a little extra food. Of course, they’d have to double-up in the cells, but he’d built them generously enough it shouldn’t be a problem. An extra bed shelf, stacked bunk-style, would be very easy to configure into the walls. Two men sharing a room offered great opportunities for pitting them against each other and playing on their sympathies.

            How stupid were these sailors to have waltzed right into his lair in broad daylight? He could have sent Jacques and Philippe to fetch them the minute they landed. Tempting though that was, he refrained. Far more gratification if he lured them into his trap and recorded all their reactions when, just as they all thought they had won, the realization hit them they were instead doomed.

            The main trick was timing. He’d almost lost Wolenczak when Bridger ordered him removed on the spot. For someone who supposedly resigned and abandoned his crew to fend for themselves, Monsieur Bridger certainly slipped back into his discarded role easily. Beauregard would have to punish him later for his deception, but at that moment, he was more worried about losing the cocky young teen.

            But the kid himself thwarted those orders and Beauregard didn’t have to pre-empt the show of the decade. He watched on his monitors as the incompetent “rescuers” went from cell to cell, gathering their fellows up into a rag-tag conglomerate. He didn’t have time to maneuver his visual sensors much during the operation. With everything happening so fast, he mostly saw whomever was in the front of a crowd, but he knew he’d have a treasure trove of delightful recordings to watch from many different angles later, when it was all over.

            He kept one eye on the damaged outside wall in Wolenczak’s cell. It wouldn’t do to lose anyone because the master theater director was too slow on the gas. He watched, practically drooling with anticipation. He was somewhat surprised they were all so considerate. Everyone, even those he’d thought had been nearly broken, helped the others and no one was trying to push anyone out of the way or beat them to the exit.

            The Frenchman’s heartbeat quickened as the climactic scene drew closer and closer. He timed it perfectly and cued his microphone at exactly the right moment. The new acquisitions were bewildered by his words and so naïve that they didn’t even realize what was going on as they lapsed into unconsciousness. Quite priceless, however, were the seasoned performers whose faces betrayed their terror just at hearing his voice. Written in the creases of their distress was the sure knowledge not only had their puny escape attempt failed, but they would be worse off for having tried. _Utterly delicious_.

            When their agonized cringing dissolved and they slumped to the ground, Beauregard snapped his fingers at Jacques and Philippe. It was time to go pick up his pets and put them away in their cages. He had quite a few walls to repair, but since he would be reconfiguring most of them to double his bed-count anyway, it wasn’t so bad a chore. He brought the hypospray so he could make sure his pets were kept immobile if the process became too lengthy.

            They crossed through the theater to the wall of Wolenczak’s cell. Beauregard held up his remote and pressed the dematerialize button. The wall hummed out of existence.

            To his great surprise, a very large bald man growled menacingly right in his face. He was wearing camouflage face paint all over his body, most of which was showing because he only wore Bermuda shorts. _He must have been outside when the gas hit._ “What did you do to my friends?” the man asked slowly, like he was stupid.

            Beauregard took a step backwards, motioned to his bodyguards, and shouted French orders to restrain him.

            Although they were closely matched in size, the bald man was outnumbered. Once his lackeys subdued the dim-witted freak, Beauregard would step in with the hypospray.

            Jacques tried to grab his arm, but the bald man gritted his teeth and pushed him away forcefully. Jacques sailed a couple of feet into Wolen­czak’s chair, landing with a solid thud. Philippe tried a tackle move, but he was lifted off the floor by his neck and held aloft, legs flailing and hands clawing at the fingers which held him. The painted man grunted fiercely and threw him against his employer. Beauregard collapsed under the weight and the momentum, but it didn’t knock him out.

            Jacques managed to get out of the chair and attack from behind while Baldy’s attention was on Philippe. He looked like a bull trying to gore the painted man’s kidneys, but when his head hit its target, Baldy didn’t flinch or even lose his balance. Instead, Jacques groaned and crumpled to the floor. _Not good._ Beauregard pushed Philippe off of him and toward the bald menace. The Frenchman was beginning to doubt his odds now and decided he had better employ the hypospray before he was alone with the brute.

            Philippe shouted a curse in French as he barreled into Baldy. While the two of them were engaged with each other, Beauregard darted around and reached in with the hypospray, making contact with the mottled neck and simultaneously pressing the button. He breathed a sigh of relief as the comforting hiss sounded.

            It didn’t take long to realize something was wrong. Baldy didn’t collapse. He growled even louder and threw Philippe across the room. His head hit the toilet and he didn’t move after landing.

            _Time to leave_ , the Frenchman decided. He ran into the center theater with Baldy close behind. Beauregard realized he couldn’t get the remote pointed and the proper button pushed before the camouflaged nightmare would be beyond where the wall would show up. He had to make a run for the control room. With a little luck, he could outrun the big lug and trap him in the theater.

            Three steps later, he felt meaty hands grab his shoulders while a guttural growl sounded in his ears. _Stay calm and think. He’s an idiot. I can talk my way out of this_.

            “You killed my friends!” the idiot accused.

            Beauregard turned to face him and flashed a condescending smile, trying desperately to hide his fear. “ _Non_. They are fine, Monsieur. Just asleep. I was coming to wake them up.”

            “They couldn’t just fall asleep,” the brute argued dully. “They were running!”

            As Beauregard was trying to come up with an answer, his eyes alighted on the thick man’s neck. He wasn’t just painted with combat makeup. He looked more like he was _dyed_ , or… It was then that his memory finally caught up with the clues and supplied the answer. _SeaQuest_ had a janitor that was one of the first Genetically Engineered Life Forms. A failed experiment. A piece of living garbage someone should have destroyed.

            The Frenchman recalled some of the later models were smarter and eventually gained citizenship, but their offspring were inferior and they interbred with humans until all their special traits were lost to the gene pool of mediocrity. Not even their mottled skin patterns persisted past the fourth generation. With failure like that, it was no wonder the genetic engineers accepted the ban on further research. They had to be embarrassed.

            So that was why the knockout gas and paralyzer didn’t work. GELF physiology, especially in the experimental stage, was quite different from humans. Beauregard’s heartbeat quickened, but he suppressed the urge to give in to fear. He still had the advantage of intelligence.

            “Let me go, s’il vous plaît, uh… please. We will go back to your friends and I will show you. They are only sleeping.”

            His brows furrowed and his face screwed up. “No! You kidnapped them. You are a bad man.” His huge hands tightened on Beauregard’s shoulders.

            “Oh, but you are mistaken. I did not kidnap them. Jacques and Philippe did. I ’ave been taking good care of them, giving them my own food and—”

            “You are trying to trick me.” The GELF grabbed his lapels and lifted him at least a foot off the floor. Big brown eyes burned with hostility, straight into his soul. “I heard the recording. It was your voice. You took them away.”

            Lying wasn’t working. The paralyzer was ineffective. He slipped the useless hypospray into his pocket and felt the remote. That was it! He’d just generate a pair of stone manacles around those giant wrists. All he needed was a few seconds to program the configuration to form around flesh. It was set to solid right now and that could be messy if Beauregard couldn’t get his own hand free when he pressed the button. A bit of greed entered his mind as well. This GELF would be a most interesting subject, so he didn’t really want to cut off his hands just yet.

            “All right, Monsieur. No more lies. You ’ave me.” He tried to look contrite while ever-so-slowly lifting his hand to bring the remote into view.

            Baldy’s grimace relaxed slightly. He lowered Beauregard so his feet touched the floor again, but he didn’t let go of his shirt.

            “So what are you going to do now?” A couple of seconds was all he needed to press the correct button sequence and then position the device properly.

            “Uh…” The big dope really did not seem able to decide on a course of action. His gaze drifted back toward Wolenczak’s cell.

            Beauregard took advantage of his inattention and looked down at the remote. With any luck, the idiot would think he was just being remorseful. He had to move his arms carefully though, because he was still being held by his shirt. The code was seven digits long and required both a “send” and “confirm changes” keystrokes before it could be deployed.

            He quickly punched in numbers, but speed required he couldn’t check the simpleton holding his lapels. It was therefore a great surprise when, at the fifth entry, the device was yanked completely out of his hands. The GELF snarled at him, his face twisted up in rage. He hadn’t noticed he’d only been held by one hand. Once he did notice, it was too late to exercise any advantage because his feet were not touching the floor. His shirt still held by a single hand, he soared through the air while the giant took huge, lumbering steps back to where the others were scattered over three adjoining cells.

            Fear might have overtaken Beauregard at that point, but Jacques was also among the unconscious and might come to his aid at any moment. He wasn’t so optimistic about Philippe. His head had hit the toilet hard. At the very least, he’d be comatose for too long to be of any use. At worst, he was dead already. Beauregard didn’t waste time thinking about Philippe.

            Jacques was the one who’d hit a soft target and with only the force of human strength. He would wake up and see the hideous bald enemy holding his benefactor. Jacques would engage the thing that had rendered him unconscious. It would most likely end badly, with Jacques careening headlong into a toilet too, but at least the GELF would have to let go of Beauregard in order to deal with the larger threat.

            The master director would bide his time until then, and then make a break for the control room. From there, he could rematerialize the walls and tackle the GELF problem at his leisure. Hopefully, it would just be a matter of developing a different knockout gas to take him down. Properly subdued, he would make an excellent case study. Beauregard was giddy at the prospect of testing just how many lashes he could stand—probably at least double, maybe even triple or quadruple. If he could find no way to subdue the monster, he could simply halt all delivery of food and water to whatever cell he ended up in. The oaf might eat his cellmates, but eventually, he’d die too.

            Beauregard was dreaming about delicious possibilities when he was dropped, or rather shoved downward, into Wolenczak’s chair. He ran a quick assessment of whether the impact had done any damage.

            The GELF’s menacing stare was drawn away. “Captain Bridger?” His voice was so different, Beauregard almost thought someone else was speaking. But it surely wasn’t Jacques.

            _Oh, please not now._ Though he dreaded what he might see, he allowed his gaze to drift to the floor. Sure enough, the _seaQuest_ people were starting to move _._ He had to distract the GELF so he could make a run for the door. “See? I told you they were only sleeping. Why don’t you go help him up?”

            Baldy’s gaze snapped back and bored into his eyes.

            “Dagwood?” The groggy voice was directly behind them. Someone was awake enough to speak. _Not good._ Panic rose in Beauregard’s veins.

            The GELF turned toward the voice. “Commander Ford? Are you all right?” Again, his voice was soft and low, with a distinctly childish tone. The oaf jerked away, like he intended to help the black man up, but he didn’t release the death grip he had on Beauregard’s shirt and the reminder served to stop his momentum.

            “Yes, I’m all right.” Ford was standing and taking in what he saw. “Can I have that?” he asked.

            Beauregard wasn’t sure at first what he was talking about, but the GELF nodded dully and then his other hand joined the one already holding Beaure­gard’s shirt. Baldy had relinquished the remote to Ford.

            “Good job, Dag. Whatever you do, don’t let go of him.” Ford only paid a passing glance to his prisoner.

            “Okay.” The oaf had the most ridiculous smirk on his face.

            Quite a few people were moving now. Ford helped Bridger to his feet and handed him the remote. “Dagwood got that for us, sir,” he reported. “Looks like he was immune to the gas.”

            “Looks like he got more than just the controls,” Bridger remarked, surveying the room. Everyone was rousing now except Jacques and Philippe. Those who’d brought weapons aimed them at anyone they didn’t know.

            When Ford noticed two armed crewmen pointing weapons at Beauregard, he patted the GELF on the shoulder. “Okay, Dagwood, you can let go now.”

            Monsieur O’Neill offered the GELF a hand. “What did you do with Dr. Smith?” he asked.

            “I’m back here,” a feminine voice called from several cells away. The dividing walls were all gone, but she wasn’t in line-of-sight.

            “I thought she was dead, so I put her back on the bed.” The GELF flashed an embarrassed expression as he took off toward her voice.

            Someone knelt next to Philippe, took his pulse, and then shook his head. Dead, as expected. Jacques was pronounced “Just unconscious,” by someone else. The gunmen divided themselves between covering the unconscious hulk and the chair where Beauregard was now hopelessly outnumbered.

            He gave up all notion of recapturing his lost pets. Foremost on his mind was how to escape becoming a pet himself. He still had the paralyzer hypospray in his jacket pocket. As long as he used it on humans, it would still work. He just had to wait until an opportune moment when the odds were in his favor and the GELF was otherwise engaged. If he made it to the control room, he could lock it down so the remote wouldn’t work from outside.

            Monsieur Bridger approached, staring him down with malice gleaming in his eyes. “Beauregard, isn’t it?”

            He didn’t give any indication he’d heard. He matched the glare.

            Bridger’s voice had a hard edge. “Care to give me one good reason why I shouldn’t let my crew tear you limb from limb right here?”

            He smirked. “Because, Monsieur, I am the only one who knows ’ow to get you back to your own time.”

            Frustration clouded the elder man’s weary face. Beauregard resisted the urge to gloat over the victory. Even his inescapable logic was barely enough to hold back the captain’s hunger for vengeance.

            “Let me study his equipment,” Wolenczak said. “If I can figure out how to get us out of here, we won’t need _him_.” Clearly, the young man also had an ax to grind.

            Beauregard could tell the idea appealed to the captain. If Wolenczak made it to the control room, all hope was lost. He had to act now. Without another thought, Beauregard shot out of the chair, paralyzed the nearest gunman, and shoved the next-closest one into the others hard enough all three would fall. It would take them a few seconds to regain their feet. Meanwhile, he side­stepped past the captain, making a mad dash for his control room.

            He heard the sound that spelled his doom. The ultrasonic signal from the remote was silent, but the wall itself hummed as the molecules realigned them­selves back into place. Forward momentum caused his head and upper chest to keep traveling after the wall materialized just under his armpits and within his torso. He didn’t feel his legs moving, nor did he feel the impact of his head when it hit the floor of the theater. He only knew it happened because the last sight his brain registered was an upside down view of the room. In another half-second, everything went black and he felt nothing at all.


	32. Chapter 32

            “Can I get Clark or Nichols in here?” Captain Bridger said calmly.

            Lucas remembered they were the ones who had ultrasonic emitters. The scene in front of his eyes was shocking, yes, but he couldn’t manage to muster any pity for the man whose trunk and torso disappeared _into_ a solid wall. The Frenchman was probably already dead, but even if he weren’t, Lucas didn’t think anyone should bother trying to save him. It didn’t matter whether it meant being permanently marooned in this time. Keeping that madman alive was too high a price to pay. Nevertheless, Dagwood was carrying Dr. Smith toward the remains, probably at her request.

            Nichols was guarding either Hans or Frans. Lucas had never cared enough to differentiate which was which. Dagwood sounded really upset after they’d pronounced the other guy dead. Lucas knew he’d have to cheer up his friend eventually, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to see the death as anything but a cause for celebration.

            Nichols motioned to one of the rescue party who had just been dominoed by their sadistic captor before said captor became a doorknob. Without any words spoken, someone took Nichols’ place so he could get over to the captain. “You asked for me, sir?”

            Captain Bridger didn’t look at the grisly wall behind him. He crooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Go ahead and take out that wall. We’ll need to get to the control room.”

            “Have we eliminated all enemy forces, sir, or should I have some security ready?”

            The captain gazed over the crew scattered about the three rooms and slowly filtering outside. Standing right next to him, Lucas saw pretty much the same thing. Bridger raised his voice. “Did anyone ever see more than the three men?”

            Tony spoke up. “We saw a woman row to Marseille and back, sir. We think she bought food.”

            “I bet she did the cooking too,” Dr. Smith said. “None of the men struck me as the cooking type.”

            “Leave two guards on Hans over there,” the captain ordered, “and take everyone else who’s armed and secure the control room.”

            Brody ordered Tony to hand over his weapon and then assigned himself to the security detail. Captain Bridger saw this and didn’t disapprove, but he also didn’t ask any of the other ex-prisoners to help. Technically, they all really belonged in Medbay.

            “Captain,” Dr. Smith said cautiously, “this woman may be here against her will, just like we were.”

            Bridger nodded and addressed the armed guys lining up at the wall. “Make sure you’re all on stun setting. She hasn’t done any of us harm, but she’s probably scared. O’Neill, you better go too.”

            “Aye, sir.” Tim broke away from Miguel and Lonnie where the three had been holding an impromptu reunion. He had to step around quite a few people in order to join the security party, but they didn’t appear to be in any big hurry.

            “ _I_ could talk to her,” Dr. Smith offered. “She might be less afraid of a woman.” It appeared she’d already finished her assessment of Scratchy Voice’s remains and given up.

            “Oh, that’s right,” the captain said. “Tell me something, Doctor. Did I hear you speaking French? Have you been holding out on me, or was O’Neill feeding that to you for the warden’s benefit?”

            “Neither. Tim taught me the entire language.”

            Lucas’s head snapped to stare at her incredulously. “In three days?”

            She smirked at him like she did whenever she won a point of debate. “No, actually, in about five minutes.” She touched her forehead. “But we cheated. I was being forced into his mind by drugs, so he gave me something useful while I was there.”

            The captain whistled low. “I can see he accomplished a lot more holding your hands than I did.” He glanced at Tim approaching the security detail. “Which makes me wonder, Lieutenant. Was there any ulterior motive in calling me… what was it?”

            Tim gulped and cringed. “An impotent quitter?”

            The whole room got suddenly quiet. All eyes were on Captain Bridger, except Tim’s. Tim was looking at the floor.

            “I was thinking ‘jealous and manipulative old man’, but that too.”

            Lucas could tell the captain wasn’t furious, but he wasn’t joking either.

            “N-No, sir.” Tim straightened a little, looking up from the floor, but not at the captain’s face. He adjusted his glasses and drew a deep breath. “I was just thinking how much I’d rather be in _seaQuest_ ’s brig, waiting for my court martial, than watching Dr. Smith take a beating by herself.”

            Bridger extended his hand and put a warm inflection in his tone. “I’d have to put myself in there too, after telling someone to drive spikes into your eardrums.”

            Tim heaved a giant sigh of relief, took the captain’s hand, and met his gaze. “That wasn’t your fault.”

            “Granted. We were _both_ acting under extreme conditions and trying to protect others. You were doing your duty, no matter _what_ you had to call me.” He raised his voice and waved his free hand around the room. “I just don’t want anyone _else_ to think there was any real hostility involved.”

            Tim shook his head vigorously. “Absolutely none, sir.”

            “None here either. I’m glad your hearing is all right.” Bridger pulled him close and put his other arm around Tim’s shoulder in a sort of half-hug, but he was careful not to slap his back. Tim returned the gesture, finally smiling.

            The wall suddenly disappeared and the limbs which had been protruding from its surface fell to the floor. Lucas couldn’t resist a curious glance at the remains. The head and shoulders lay upside down in the theater side. He also saw one hand and arm, cut off near the elbow. There was very little blood as the section of his anatomy where the heart should have been was missing. The parts that had been embedded in the wall simply no longer existed.

            Dr. Smith looked down and shook her head. “Talk about poetic justice.”

            “What do you mean, Doctor?” Commander Ford asked.

            “He died because his circulatory system was severely compromised. He had no heart.”

            Ford chortled. “Nothing we didn’t already know.”

            Brody took the lead with Nichols and a few others close behind. Further back, Dagwood carried Dr. Smith while Tim walked beside him.

            Ford walked over to the captain and spoke quietly, but Lucas could hear. “How are we getting back to _seaQuest_ , sir?”

            Bridger grinned. “Haven’t you been looking out the window in your cell?”

            Ford shook his head. “No.”

            “You’re going to love this. We’re traveling in style.” He lifted his arm in a beckoning motion. “Piccolo, why don’t you take the commander out and show him?”

            “Aye, sir. By the way, someone should check in with Chief Kendall. He was pretty nervous when we left.”

            “Good idea. Have you got a PAL?”

            “Sure.” Tony removed his PAL from his swim trunks pocket and tossed it to the captain, then he turned to escort Ford outside. Lucas was intensely curious and almost followed them out to see whatever ‘stylish’ transportation was wait­ing, but he wasn’t comfortable leaving Captain Bridger even briefly, if he could avoid it. He knew it was irrational, but after weeks of solitary confinement interrupted only by torture, he figured he was entitled to some irrationality.

            Bridger held the PAL to his lips. “Bridger to Kendall, do you read?”

            Lucas heard cheering and whooping in the background when Kendall answered. “Reading you loud and clear, Captain! Good to hear your voice again, sir.”

            “Piccolo thought you might be anxious to know your rescue party was successful. All hands are safe.”

            “Darwin seemed to think the bridge crew was injured.”

            “He’s correct, but everyone is ambulatory except Dr. Smith.”

            “I can bring _skyQuest_ right up to the shore, if it helps.”

            “We need to see if there’s any equipment here that can help us get back home, but you can bring her in at your leisure. She’s a beauty, Chief.”

            “Thank you, sir. Be advised, we lose propulsion after dark. We can still navigate, but we have to rely on wind.”

            “We’ll be fine with just sails, but thanks for the warning. Bridger out.”

            _Sails?_ Kendall must have brought a sailboat, apparently modified with an outboard motor, but Lucas couldn’t imagine why it wouldn’t work after dark.

            “Control room clear!” someone shouted across the building.

            “Nichols, did you find the woman?” Bridger asked into his PAL.

            Nichols’ voice came back. “Not yet, sir, but it appears there’s a basement. We’re headed down there now.”

            “Acknowledged. Stay sharp.”

            The one room they’d never seen appeared to be the same size as all the other cells, which was why everyone assumed it was a control room. Lucas knew there had to be someplace for the Frenchmen and his lackeys to sleep and cook, but it could have been another wing or another building he couldn’t see from his window.

            The captain set the PAL aside and turned to Lucas. “I’m going to the control room. You wanna tag along?”

            The teen nodded. He’d offered to look at the equipment before Scratchy Voice died, and besides, it was a good excuse to stay close to Captain Bridger without looking like he was clinging. The central theater room was quiet and eerie. Goosebumps crawled his back just being in there. Lucas shivered.

            “You okay?” the captain asked.

            Lucas drew a nervous breath. “Just bad vibes. I have nightmares about this place.”

            Bridger nodded and patted him on the back lightly. “Me too, pal.” He didn’t look afraid, but he didn’t look comfortable either. Right now, the insecure youth was glad for that transparency. If the man he respected most didn’t feel the need to put on a mask, then he didn’t have to either. They both moved quickly through the ghostly theater and into the control room.

            If he thought the control room would make him feel better, he was sadly mistaken. One wall sported a monitor from each room, marked with the name of the prisoner. It had to be a live feed because most of the rooms were empty and the side walls were missing. Only the monitors marked “Bridger” and “Wolenczak” still had human activity showing. Lucas already knew he had been under surveillance, so these were no big surprise.

            But those were just the tip of the iceberg. There had to be at least twenty-four monitors all around the room, showing the “highlights” of every torture performed since they arrived. While the live monitors were silent, the sounds from the looped highlight vids were quite clear. The earsplitting cracks of the cat-o-nines, the desperate pleading, the screams, and the sliding of the guillotine blades—every horrific sound seemed almost unnaturally amplified. The teen could feel his eyelids opening wider and wider, yet he could do nothing to stop them. His heartbeat quickened and before he knew it, the captain was pushing him back out into the theater.

            He felt like a child and that angered and confused him, but he didn’t have the mental strength to argue or the physical strength to resist. Once they were out of the control room, he fixed the captain with an angry, accusing stare, but for some reason, he didn’t have a mouthful of complaints. In fact, he found himself oddly speechless.

            “Lucas, you’re hyperventilating,” Captain Bridger said.

            _I am?_ He halted his anger long enough to assess what was going on and Bridger was right. Lucas cupped his hands and placed them over his mouth and nose. He concentrated on slowing his breathing.

            The captain watched him for a few seconds, his eyes full of concern, then he laid a gentle hand to his back. “I think maybe you should wait out here until I can get those vid-screens shut down.”

            Lucas still wasn’t sure exactly what had hit him, but he didn’t want to go back in there. Leaving his hands over his mouth and nose, he gave an exaggerated nod.

            Bridger disappeared back into the control room. Lucas heard buttons and switches clicking, but he could still hear the hideous sound bytes playing. He was glad he wasn’t in the room anymore. While the sounds seemed very real before, their effect was less distressing without the video accompaniment. Now that his breathing was slowing down, he was acutely aware he was alone in the theater and the realization threatened to start another wave of panic. He started an internal debate, trying to decide whether he was better off in the eerie torture chamber alone or back with all those images with a real human being next to him.

            The jury was still out when Tony came sauntering in from the other direction. “You all right?” he asked.

            Lucas dropped his hands and smirked at his roomie. “Yeah, I just like to breathe like this for the fun of it.”

            Tony seemed to sense nothing major was wrong and that calling any more attention to it would blow it out of proportion. However, making light of it meant he wasn’t going to stick close by, like Lucas secretly hoped for. The seaman passed him and entered the control room. His voice only slightly cocky, since he was talking to the captain, he asked, “Anything I can help with?”

            If Captain Bridger answered him, it was too quietly for Lucas to hear. Then again, he hadn’t been able to shut off those infernal highlight vids either. Other than a soundtrack fit for a nightmare, Lucas heard nothing for at least a count of ten. Then Tony whispered in a dismayed tone, “Was it like this the whole time?”

            “Worse,” Bridger said.

            A pregnant pause. More clicks. Frustrated grunts.

            “I’m gonna go out and talk to Lucas,” Tony announced.

            “Good idea.”

            Lucas heard footsteps coming closer, then stopping. “I’m sorry it took us so long to get here, sir.” The voice was Tony’s but Lucas couldn’t remember him ever being so somber with the captain.

            “I know you came as fast as you could. Thanks for not giving up.”

            Tony was standing in the doorway now, so Lucas could see as well as hear him. The seaman chuckled. “Couldn’t. Acting Captain Darwin wouldn’t let us.”

            Lucas and Bridger both said, “ _Captain_ Darwin?”

            “Wha’? Kendall didn’t tell you? The computer said Darwin outranked everyone. So we asked him if he understood what it meant to be captain, and it sounded like he did. He even asked Kendall to be his XO. We did it all by the book.”

            “And the rest of the crew went along with this?” Bridger asked.

            “Pretty much. Once we got Darwin into the Aegean so’s he could get some sunlight, he wouldn’t go back to _seaQuest_ , so it was just a matter of whether we followed his lead or sat around, doin’ nothin’.”

            “Incredible,” Bridger remarked.

            “What is?” Commander Ford had just walked up behind Tony.

            “While we were M.I.A.,” the captain explained, “the _seaQuest_ computer checked its personnel records and put the next-highest ranking officer in charge.”

            Ford shrugged. “And?”

            “Darwin is an ensign, Commander. _He_ ’s been Acting Captain.”

            “Darwin? Are you serious?”

            Tony grinned like a maniac. “Yep, Commander. You owe your rescue to a dolphin.”

            Lucas braced himself for some disparaging comment from the straight-laced naval officer, but Ford shook his head. “Well then, I’d like to shake his fin and buy him dinner! What’s his favorite fish?”

            Everyone laughed. Lucas realized he was no longer hyperventilating. Tony walked over. “Darwin’s out in the harbor, swimmin’ back and forth like a nervous papa. Maybe you could come out and see if you can calm him down.”

            Seeing Darwin was definitely tempting. Still, he wasn’t going to abandon his duty to help them all get home. “Captain?” he called.

            “Go ahead. I still haven’t found the ‘off’ switch in here. You can’t study anything with this racket going on. I’ll send for you. Tell Darwin I said thanks and I’ll see him soon.”

            “You got it.”

            The sun was low in the sky, but its brightness still made Lucas squint. There had been longer periods when he’d been kept from the sun and fresh air while on _seaQuest_ , but this time seemed like it had been years rather than weeks. The warmth on his skin and the crisp, salty air refreshed his spirit. He set his gaze to the sea to look for Darwin, but a bigger target caught his eye. A sleek trimaran was headed into shore. The UEO flag flying from the highest point meant this had to be the _skyQuest_ , but none of its sails were up. However, Lucas now under­stood why the propulsion would be dead after dark. The masts and rails were covered in solar collectors.

            He grinned. “Very cool.” Someone on deck waved and he and Tony both waved back. Man, it was good to be free.

            Lucas tore his eyes away from the boat and scanned the water. Sure enough, Darwin was breaching just a few feet away from the portside hull. He was chattering happily in the air. Lucas turned to Tony. “Did you bring the vocorder?”

            “Yeah, two of ’em, actually. One’s built into a tank on the center hull and the portable is down on _MR-3_.”

            “Where’s _MR-3_?”

            “Doc Forrester is manning her in the channel between the two big islands.”

            “A civilian? By himself?”

            Tony shrugged. “We were short-handed and he wanted to help. We owe him, ya know. He’s the one who figured out that ‘If’ was a place. If Darwin had to lead the whole way, we wouldn’t even be halfway here yet.”

            Lucas peeled his smelly plaid shirt off and dropped it in the sand. “I hope you brought us clean clothes because I’m not putting any of this back on.”

            “I don’t know what Kendall brought, but there’s probably some kind of laundry machine on _skyQuest_. Heck, you could wash them in the ocean.”

            The teen shook his head. “Not worth washing and too many bad memories. I’ll wear boxers until we get back to _seaQuest_ if I have to.”

            Tony nodded. He was only wearing swim trunks, and he looked comfortable enough.

            Lucas plopped his jeans and t-shirt on top of his plaid flannel. Tony stared at the t-shirt, probably at all the blood stains.

            “That wasn’t even the worst of it. Henderson washed me off quite a bit before I put that back on.”

            “Can I see?” Tony asked.

            Lucas had been too keen to show him Tim’s back to suddenly claim reluctance. Yet, he did feel oddly self-conscious when he turned around.

            “Damn, Luke, that’s epic.”

            He turned back around. “So, what d’ya think? Will girls be all ‘You poor thing’ or will they be grossed out?”

            Tony broke out in a huge smile. “Oh, that’s got big sympathy points written all over it, dude. You’re gonna have chicks swarming over you for life.”

            “Really?”

            He chuckled. “Oh yeah. And you don’t gotta hide it ’cause it’s classified, neither.” He sounded envious of the last point.

            Lucas sighed. “You never know. If we get back, they might classify this whole incident like they classified Admiral Overbeck trying to kill us.”

            The seaman scoffed. “That was politics. But this… you didn’t volunteer for that beating and you aren’t in the Navy. What’re they gonna do? Ban you from every beach in the world?”

            Lucas didn’t have time to ponder an answer because Darwin leapt six feet into the air just a few yards from where they were standing. Lucas ran the last few steps on land and then launched himself off a rock, into a swan dive over the sea. The water was cold, but not freezing. It felt good even where it stung the last remnants of open sores because at least it washed away the sweat and dirt he’d been accumulating.

            Darwin barreled into him, beak first. Lucas greeted him with a brief hug followed by a lot of rubbing. The dolphin clicked and chirped at him.

            “I’m happy to see you too. Thanks for coming to get us. Oh, and Captain Bridger says thanks too. He’s busy, but he’s okay.”

            The way he clicked back, Lucas would swear he didn’t need a vocorder. Tony sculled by in the water and Darwin left Lucas to greet him. _Whoa, that’s new_.

            “Hey buddy,” Tony said, rubbing his rostrum. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

            “Since when did you get all chummy with Darwin?”

            “Chummy? Are you kiddin’? He only likes me ’cause I been flushin’ his toilet water and he knows he can order me around.”

            _Yeah, right, and you still think he’s just another dumb fish._ One didn’t have to be a genius to see Tony and Darwin were a lot closer now. Lucas fought the jealousy niggling against his brain. After all, these two had come hundreds of miles to save them when they had no other hope of rescue. His dreams of them had been a source of great comfort. Why should he entertain any discord now they were here? It wouldn’t be so bad to share Darwin with his gilled roomie.

            He’d been staring off into space for a while when Tony snapped his fingers in his face. “Hey, you with us?”

            “Yeah.” He ran his hands over his wet hair. The saltwater helped, but it wasn’t enough. “Just dreaming of shampoo, soap, and a toothbrush.”

            Tony got a devious look in his eyes. “Leave it to me. I gotcha covered.”


	33. Chapter 33

            Tony dove down and made his way to the underwater airlock on _skyQuest_ ’s center hull. He had to wait a while for someone to come down and crank the manual door and everyone was probably busy parking the big tub. Like an unwelcome houseguest, Tony just kept knocking on the door until someone answered. Wasn’t like he was in danger of running out of air or anything.

            Kendall had a weapon pointed at him when he opened the door. “Piccolo! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? You had Vinson spooked out of his wits.” He put the weapon away.

            “Cap’n Bridger took my PAL. I figured you’d know it had to be me.”

            “Why, because no one else would be as annoying?”

            “No, ’cause me and Lucas both waved to you.”

            “We’ve been kinda busy. I want to get close to shore, but I don’t want to hit any of the rocks. I mean, how bad would it look to come all the way from the Black Sea and sink the rescue boat right in front of the captain?”

            Tony chuckled. “Pretty bad.”

            “So what are you doing here?”

            “Look, Chief, none of our people have had showers for the last six weeks. They’re all wearin’ the same uniforms they had on when they got kidnapped. They’re stinkin’ and torn and wrinkled to hell. I thought I could scrounge up some soap and get some clean duds.”

            “We didn’t have time to put showers in our staterooms, ya know. We’ve all been diving off deck and using seawater.”

            “The crazy French dude probably had a shower. They were checkin’ the basement when I left. They have running water for sure. There were toilets in the cells.”

            “Cells?”

            Tony shook his head. “Yeah, cells. They’ve all been tortured. They’re so glad to see us, even Commander Ford is smiling.”

            “Ford? Smiling? Sorry I missed it.”

            “The biggest smile was for Darwin, but he also let it slip he thought _skyQuest_ was about the ‘most gorgeous darn sight’ he’d ever seen.”

            Kendall grinned big. “I can hardly wait to hand her over to them. I don’t know enough about sailing to be doing this. It’s a miracle we didn’t capsize or something.” He motioned Tony up and threw him a towel. “Dry off. I can’t have you dripping all over the officer’s quarters.”

            Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Those guys had been sleeping on slabs of rock in solitary confinement. They weren’t going to care about a couple of drops of water on their floors. However, Tony didn’t want to disrespect them while they were all so wounded either. He’d never forget what he’d seen on those control room vids and the captain said the actual experience was even worse than what he saw.

            Kendall grabbed some watertight zipper bags from a cabinet and then started entering the small cabins. “We brought uniforms for each of them, except Lucas and Dr. Smith, but I did grab something for them too.” He carefully placed a single folded uniform in each bag, along with a new toothbrush and a comb. The bags were clear and the uniforms folded in such a way that the stitched nametags showed through on top. Smith’s and Henderson’s bags also got hairbrushes and some extra packets marked “hygiene”, which Tony didn’t dare ask about. The last bag held two jumbo bottles of shampoo, three large bars of soap, and a tube of toothpaste. “Had to travel light,” Kendall explained. “They’ll have to share until we get back to _seaQuest_.”

            Tony laughed. “Believe me, Chief, they won’t care. How about razors? They’re all lookin’ mighty scraggly.”

            “We don’t have electrical outlets in the cabins, just in the navigation room for radio and instruments. Those run off solar batteries, but we need most of the solar for the propellers. Ships stores were already out of disposables because _seaQuest_ is long overdue for re-supply. I’ve been using my Swiss army knife.”

            “Okay. I’ll let them worry about beards later then.” He looked at all the plas­tic bags. “Do I gotta swim back or can we put all this in a duffel or somethin’?”

            “We’ve got a gangplank set up now. Let me see if I can find a duffel.” Kendall started opening drawers and cabinets in the halls and utility rooms. “I didn’t do all the packing, you know. I have no idea what we brought.” He finally pulled out a drawstring canvas laundry sack. “How about this?”

            “That’ll do.” They both loaded the plastic bags inside the sack, starting with the shampoo and soap at the bottom. Tony slung the sack over his shoulder. He caught a reflection of himself in a porthole window. He was still just wearing swim trunks, but the sack’s shape and the way he suspected the contents were going to be received made him chuckle. Merrily. “Give me a white beard and I could be Santa Claus.”

            Kendall smirked. “It’s June here, Piccolo.”

            “Doesn’t matter. You just made it Christmas. You sure you don’t wanna take this to them, see all their little eyes light up?” Tony was only half-kidding. He knew the bridge crew would appreciate this.

            “Naw. I get to give them the boat. You can be Mr. Clean.”

            “Thanks, Chief.” Tony saluted and headed off toward the main deck. He took a few wrong turns, but finally found the gangplank. Just before he started down, he took a look on the seaward side of the boat to find Lucas still swimming with Darwin. He yelled over the deck, “Hey, Lucas, come see what Santa brought!”

            Lucas turned in the water and headed for shore. Tony disembarked the boat and waited for his roomie. The kid pulled himself up onto a rock and stared at Tony expectantly. The tropic Santa turned to let him see the bag he carried on his back, then swung back around to talk. “I’ve got clothes and soap and shampoo. Only thing I don’t got is showers.”

            “The prison has fresh water. I don’t know about showers, but I know there’s a bathtub. If we’ve got the soap, that means I get to the front of the line.”

            Tony shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Ladies first, kid. Gotta be the gentleman.”

            “Henderson had a bath just a week ago. I’m going after Dr. Smith.”

            Tony arched a brow. He wondered how Lucas knew when Lonnie had bathed, but he decided he better not ask. “A _week_ ago? And you think that’s gonna be enough for her? She’s a dame, kid. Unless she had a bath yesterday, she’s gonna want one.”

            “Fine. As long as it’s after me.” He shook the excess seawater out of his hair and pointed toward the building. “Let’s go.”

            Tony sauntered into the prison, saying, “Ho, ho, ho” in a deep voice and handing out zip-locked bags like toys. He got about the same reaction from the disheveled crew as little kids at Christmas, too. Lucas told each person who’d called dibs previously, so they had an order for bathing worked out. Of course, it hadn’t occurred to the kid that Miguel, Greg, Tom, and Rick might very well get bumped by someone pulling rank. They still hadn’t seen anyone from Brody’s group yet. From the sound of it, Commander Ford and Captain Bridger were still in the control room. They were frustrated about something, but at least the recorded horror track had been silenced.

            “Merry Christmas, Captain, Commander,” Tony said as he handed each one his uniform package.

            “There’s soap, shampoo, and toothpaste too,” Lucas said, waving the bag triumphantly and grinning like a fool. “Where’s that bathtub so I can leave it there for everyone? We’ve already started a line, assuming you approve, of course.”

            Ford and Bridger exchanged brief looks. “That’s fine. Put us at the end of the line,” the captain said.

            Ford fixed a scrutinizing gaze on Tony’s swim trucks. The commander narrowed his eyes and spoke in that ‘you-are- _so_ -in-trouble’ tone. “Was this your idea, Piccolo?”

            “You mean callin’ it Christmas and doin’ the ‘ho, ho’ thing? Uh, yeah. See, I just thought the place seemed so dismal and—”

            Ford slapped him on the shoulder. “Good going, Santa.”

            Tony stood there with his jaw dropped. Then he realized he couldn’t take credit. “I just shoved the stuff in the sack and walked it in here, Commander. Chief Kendall is the one who thought to bring it all from _sea­Quest_. I didn’t even know about the sailboat until yesterday. I came on _MR-3_.”

            Ford quirked a brow. “A shuttle? That’s impossible. It wouldn’t hold enough fuel.”

            “We took extra to get to the Aegean and then when Forrester finally figured out where Darwin wanted us to go, Kendall sent 37 more drums.”

            The commander perched both hands on his hips. “You got 37 drums of fuel on a shuttle?”

            “Yeah, along with me, Nichols, Tate, Forrester, and a portable tank for Darwin.”

            “That’s not a shuttle, that’s a sardine can.”

            Tony shrugged. “Yeah, but we stopped every twelve hours to change Darwin’s water, so I got to get out and swim.” And even had he not had a single break, he still wouldn’t have wanted to trade places with any of the bridge crew.

            Commander Ford looked… _uncomfortable_. That was the only way to describe it. He’d already been acting strange with the smiles and the pat on the back and now he was looking at Tony like a speech was coming on. Ford transferred his plastic bag of clothes to his left hand and extended his right. “Thanks for coming after us.”

            Tony felt his cheeks warm. He shook Ford’s hand cautiously, wondering how much the commander was going to regret being nice when he was in his right mind again. “Hey, you did the same for me when Eddie crashed our plane and got us captured.”

            Ford acknowledged with a slanted dip of his head, but there was still some­thing weird in his eyes. It was only after he’d turned away Tony realized what it was. _Respect_. Ford might be a strict military guy who rode hard on him when he deserved it, but he also wasn’t stingy with giving praise when it was genuinely earned. And that was twice now Tony had done something worthy of his praise.

            But, not knowing how to accept a compliment and not ready to fully suppress his old personality yet, he sidestepped over to Lucas and only lowered his voice a little when he fake-whispered, “Tortured to the brink of insanity, right?”

            Lucas scoffed. “Yeah. All of us were.”

            Captain Bridger cleared his throat lightly. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t mean it.”

            Tony recognized a veiled reprimand when he heard it. He’d not only over­stepped military bounds, _again_ , but he’d done it in such a way as to discourage praise from repeating and that was the last thing he wanted. He nodded solemnly to the captain, swallowed the last ounce of his pride and turned back to Ford. “That was out of line, Commander. I’m sorry.”

            Surprise registered on his bearded face. “Apology accepted, Piccolo. Carry on.”

            Just then, a door opened. Lucas, Ford, and Bridger all jumped. Tony had been startled too, but not nearly to the extent of the others. Lucas looked pale as a ghost and the well-tanned captain and African- American commander weren’t far behind. They all looked like they’d had heart failure and couldn’t move.

            Brody appeared from behind the door. He saw the looks on the faces of his superiors. “Sorry, should have knocked.”

            Bridger waved it off. “No matter, Lieutenant. Please report.”

            “The basement is secure, Captain. We found the woman and a small girl, evidently her daughter. The girl was being held in a cell a third the size of all of ours and the cook could only see her, not touch her or talk to her. That was how he controlled the cook, by threatening her daughter.”

            The captain shook his head, cringing. “How old?”

            “Uh, I think I heard them say ‘ _cinq_ ’. Is that an age?”

            “Five,” Lucas translated.

            Tony heard both Ford and Bridger mutter coarse names that would have got him into deep trouble had he said them in their presence. By the look on Lucas’s face, the kid hadn’t heard at least one of their slang terms, possibly both of them.

            “Dr. Smith is still talking to her, but all they want to do is hold each other and cry right now. She sent me to ask you if you intend to detain them.”

            “Absolutely not. If they need medical attention, we’ll give them whatever we can, then we’ll give them a ride to Marseille or anyplace else they’d like to go.” He paused. “Are there showers down there, by any chance?”

            “No, but there’s a bathtub and a kitchen where we can heat water.”

            “ _Is_ there fresh water to heat?”

            “There’s a well right in the kitchen, even has a pump that runs on bicycle pedals.”

            “Good. Lucas is handling the queue to use the tub. Piccolo, do you have a Christmas present for the lieutenant?”

            “Yes sir.” He’d already dug out the correct uniform bag; it was just a matter of handing it to Brody. “Here, Lieutenant. Merry Christmas.”

            Tony was afraid Brody was going to kiss him or cry or something, so he did what he always did to break tension and made up a joke. “Should I cut off the legs, so you can keep showin’ off your hairy knees?”

            Lucas elbowed him hard and tried to deflect attention by holding up his bag of goodies. “There’s soap and shampoo, too, all courtesy of Chief Kendall.”

            “I’d say this was _better_ than Christmas. Put me on the waitlist.” Brody turned back to Tony. “Thanks, Piccolo.”

            What, no snide comeback about his knees? “You’re welcome,” was all Tony could say.

            “You’re up after Ortiz,” Lucas said.

            Brody nodded. “Anything I can do up here?”

            The captain sighed and waved a frustrated hand. “I don’t think there’s any­thing here besides audio/video, and controls for the ventilation system.”

            “There’s a bunch of equipment down in his quarters. Should I bring it up?”

            “No. I think we’ll go down. Lucas, you up to it?”

            Lucas nodded. “As long as I don’t miss my turn.” He waved the bag again.

            Bridger directed his attention to Ford. “I’m going down to the basement. The rescue party can go back to _skyQuest_ unless they want baths too. But they go after everyone who was _here_.”

            “Yes, sir. Have you figured out yet what we’re going to do about this place?”

            Bridger didn’t look like he understood. “Do, Commander?”

            “This building is constructed of a material we don’t even have in _our_ time. It’s on a spot where something else of historic significance is supposed to be. If we leave this here, what happens to Château d’If, to history as we know it?”

            “It may _already_ be changed and it wasn’t our fault. On the other hand, maybe once we’re all done, we should see if those ultrasonic emitters will clear out this metallic rock. We can dump the rest of the stuff off shore.”

            “Did I hear right? _You_ ’re advocating using the seabed as a dumping ground?”

            The captain shrugged. “I don’t have a bulldozer, so it’s either that or leave it here. We know it’ll be safe for a couple of centuries down there while no one has diving bells or submarines and after that, it won’t be worth salvaging. We’d be setting up a fish habitat, just like a shipwreck or a coral reef. Unless you have a better idea.”

            Ford’s brows shot up and he shook his head. “No, sir. Just making sure I understood your orders.”

            Bridger exhaled an exasperated sigh. “I missed the class at the Academy on what to do when your boat gets hijacked by a madman from the future who’s messing with history. We didn’t ask to be here and we didn’t cause the damage. Our responsibility is getting home, not cleaning up after the lunatic who put us through hell.”

            The commander pressed his lips together and nodded.

            The lines in Bridger’s face softened. “However, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to clean up someone else’s mess. Let’s do what we can, within reason.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “And no one whose back has been beaten is to do any heavy lifting without Dr. Smith’s express consent. That includes you.”

            Ford looked over his shoulder. He was still clothed in a filthy, wrinkled uniform, but he had to be visualizing what was beneath. “I have no problem with that. Please assure me you’re going to follow those orders yourself.”

            The captain cracked a smile. “Too old for this, am I?”

            “No, but if you try to tell me you’re in any better condition than I am, I will put in a formal recommendation for a psych exam.”

            Bridger arched a brow. “And if I say we’re _both_ just barely fit for light duty?”

            “Then I’d have to agree with you, sir.”

            The captain chuckled. “I think I’m going to get myself a psych exam anyway.”

            “Me too,” Ford said softly.

            “Me three,” Brody mumbled.

            “Piccolo.” The captain turned to face him abruptly.

            Tony startled. He’d been watching everyone with rapt attention without thinking how nosy he was. He gulped. “Sir?”

            “How many more deliveries do you have to make?”

            “Just O’Neill and Dr. Smith.”

            “They’re both in the basement and that’s where we’re headed. Daylight’s wasting.” He swept his hand in the direction of the door.

            “I’ll bring up the rear,” Tony said.

            The captain went first. Lucas followed so closely it almost looked like they were touching. Tony decided not to needle the kid about it. He’d already put his foot in his mouth recently. There was no room left for another foot.

            The basement rooms were quite different from the cells upstairs. They had electric lights, carpets on the floors, and cushioned furniture. And so far, all the rooms had been significantly larger. But the voices came from the far end of the hall. Bridger stopped in a room that looked like storage. Tony only peeked in briefly, but he was sure he caught sight of several medieval torture devices. Tate and Parker were inside.

            “Find anything?” Bridger asked.

            “Only stuff that violates every human rights statute in existence in 2022.” They surreptitiously dropped whatever they had in their hands and tried not to betray their morbid fascination.

            “Is there anything that looks like it’s from the future?”

            “Yeah, next room down.” He pointed in the direction they were headed. “We couldn’t even tell what some of that stuff was, so we left it alone.”

            “Good work. I’m told there’s a bathtub somewhere down here.”

            “Third room on the left.” Parker pointed back the way the way they’d come.

            “Go make sure the room is suitable for us to use,” Bridger ordered. Tony would bet he winked because the normally straightforward captain didn’t elaborate on what he meant by ‘suitable’ in front of Lucas. “And then start filling the tub with water. You’ll need to heat a big stockpot or two in the kitchen.”

            “Aye, aye,” they said in unison.

            Bridger looked into the room reported to hold futuristic stuff and whistled low. “Lucas, you’d better get in here. This is way out of my league.”

            Lucas walked in and stared around the room for a good minute and a half. “Captain, this may be out of my league, too.”

            Bridger patted his shoulder. “Just do the best you can. Should I send O’Neill in to help or are you better by yourself?”

            “Help, please,” Lucas said.

            Tony wondered whether the kid really thought the communications officer could help him or he just didn’t want to be alone.

            With only minimal attention borrowed from what he was paying the equip­ment, Lucas handed Tony the bag of community shampoo, soap, and toothpaste, but he kept his personal bag of clothes. He was absorbed in the computerized world around him when he absently said, “Someone call me when it’s my turn.”

            “We will,” Tony said at the same time as the captain.

            Bridger led Tony toward where they could hear voices emerging—all female and all in French. The last room at the end of the hall was more like the cells above, small, stark, and cold. The captain stood in the doorway and knocked quietly.

            The woman Tony had seen in the rowboat was holding a small girl on her lap, rocking as she spoke. Dr. Smith looked up at the knock and motioned them in.

            “C’est Capitaine Bridger et Monsieur Piccolo. Ils sont mes amis.”

            The woman nodded, but she stiffened. Bridger kept his distance and Tony stayed well behind him. He knew it was dangerous to get between a mother bear and her cub.

            Dr. Smith said, “Captain, this is Marie and Céline from Marseille.” She pointed when she spoke so he knew the mother was Marie.

            Bridger dipped his head and said, “Bonjour, Madam, Mademoiselle.”

            Tony blinked back his surprise that the captain knew any French.

            The captain faced Smith and switched to English. “Are they harmed?”

            The doctor sighed. “Not physically. She did everything he asked and he kept his promise not to harm her or her daughter, probably because he couldn’t afford not to. They’ve both been living in fear since before we got here.”

            “Do whatever you can for them. We can take them across the bay, or they can have the rowboat. They’re free to go whenever they want.”

            She smiled. “I didn’t think you intended to arrest them.”

            “May I have Lieutenant O’Neill back?”

            She blinked and looked over her shoulder at the silent statues of Tim and Dagwood. Tony had the sneaky suspicion she’d forgotten they were standing there. With a sheepish grin, she answered, “Of course.”

            Tony coughed pointedly.

            “Oh, Mr. Piccolo has a gift for you,” Captain Bridger said.

            Tony stepped forward and extended her bag of clean clothes and personal grooming items. “Merry Christmas, Doc.”

            Her eyes lit up in recognition. “Thank you, Tony!”

            “Uh, Chief Kendall picked everything out, so yell at him if there’s somethin’ missing.”

            “Anything clean is an improvement,” she assured him.

            The captain added, “We’re setting up the bathtub down the hall. Kendall sent soap and shampoo too. I’m told you’ve been elected to go first.”

            “Wow, it really _is_ Christmas.”

            The captain waved his hand at the French woman and her little girl. “We don’t have any clothes they could wear in this time period, but they’re welcome to use the tub and wash their clothes before they go.”

            “Thank you, Captain. I’ll tell her, but I rather doubt she’d feel safe enough to disrobe around us.”

            Bridger nodded his understanding. Tim had stepped away from his hiding place to stand behind the captain. Tony handed him his uniform and comb bag. “You’re after Brody, so it’ll be a while.”

            Tim smirked as he took the bag. “I’ve waited six weeks, another hour or two is nothing.”

            “In the meantime, Lucas could use your help,” Captain Bridger said.

            “Aye, sir.” Tim followed the captain out of the room.

            “Hey Dagwood,” Tony called. “You wanna come help us? We’ve gotta move big pots of water and stuff.”

            The big guy looked at the woman he’d carried down here. “Do you need me, Dr. Smith?”

            “I’m fine for now, Dagwood. You can come back to get me when everything is ready.”

            “Okay,” he said.

            “Thanks,” Dr. Smith added as the GELF left her side to join Tony. As soon as Dagwood gave an indication he’d heard her, she turned back to the cook and resumed blabbing in French.


	34. Chapter 34

            Nathan lay back in the tub and sighed. The water felt great, but the soap felt even better. He was last to get his bath, but Jonathan had completely scrubbed the tub and had clean, hot water replaced before he got there. It appeared they had everything they needed, although some of the tools were a little crude. Ford and Ortiz were now clean shaven, but with no razors in sight, they must have used the kitchen knife that was lying on the floor by the tub. Nathan would have left his beard if he could trim it properly, but as long as it was, it simply had to go. People were going to start calling _him_ Santa.

            He couldn’t allow himself to relax too much or he knew he’d fall asleep in the water. He hadn’t slept much, watching the recon and fretting over the apparent abandonment. So much had happened since then he was sure he’d missed another night’s sleep somewhere. Tired though he was, he was still running on the pure adrenalin of being free.

            He didn’t expect too much in the way of accommodations from the _skyQuest_ , considering how fast Kendall had put her together and her small size, but even an inflated mattress on the deck would beat a rock slab. Knowing his crew were all safe would probably help his sleep even more than the type of bed. But there was still a lot of work to do before anyone could sleep.

            Squeaky clean and dressed in a crisp new uniform, Nathan felt ten years younger. If it wasn’t for the lingering pain in his back, it might have been fifteen years. The psychological wounds were still there, and he knew they were significant, but he felt he had a chance at healing now. He was more worried about how this was all going to affect Lucas. As soon as he finished dressing and grooming, his first stop was to check in on Lucas and O’Neill.

            He found his Brain Trust poring over the equipment, bouncing ideas off of each other, and growling a lot. He stood in the doorway for at least two minutes before they realized anyone was watching them. Lucas saw him first. “Captain! I see you got your turn with the soap.”

            “How did you manage to shave, sir?” a still-bearded O’Neill asked, then thought better of it. “Uh, I mean…sorry, that was personal.”

            Nathan slid his forefinger across his cheek, mimicking the path of the knife. “The old-fashioned way, Mr. O’Neill—with a kitchen blade.” He patted his lieutenant on the upper shoulders, being very careful where he touched. Tim’s beating had been not only more brutal, but nearly two weeks more recent than his own.

            Tim shook his head lightly. “I cut myself with an electric. If I used something like that, we’d have to have the doctor standing by, ready to put in stitches.”

            Lucas chuckled and then jutted his chin up in the air. “Look, I may need to shave by the time we get back to _seaQuest_.”

            Nathan bent over to scrutinize his face. He still had boyish features, and his face was once again clean, but there were indeed a few little tufts of whiskers breaking out. Nathan ran his fingers over the slightly hairy area and pretended to be greatly impressed. “I’ll put out word for everyone to hide their shaving cream.”

            Lucas smirked. “Who said I’d shave it off?”

            “You said you’d _need_ to,” Tim reminded him.

            “But I’m kind of liking everyone in beards. Maybe I’ll grow a goatee.”

            Nathan ruffled his hair affectionately and then gestured toward the electronics. “Any progress?”

            “Not really,” Lucas grumbled.

            “The problem is, sir,” O’Neill said, “we don’t even know what any of this is supposed to do, so we can’t very well test it. It’s not like taking a new sidearm out to the range and trying all the settings to see what each one does.”

            Lucas added, “We could open up a Mobius Hole right here and fall back further in time, leaving _seaQuest_ stranded.”

            The captain nodded thoughtfully. “What are the chances you’re going to figure this out any time soon?”

            Lucas said, “Slim” at the same time as O’Neill said “None.”

            “Then how do you feel about sleeping here?”

            Lucas’s eyes bugged out. “No way. Not in this building. Not anywhere on this island!”

            “I could probably sleep outside, sir,” O’Neill offered.

            “No, I think I agree with Lucas. I don’t want to sleep anywhere near here either. Let’s pack up everything and take it with us. We have at least a week’s sailing time to get back to the Black Sea. We can’t open up a Mobius Hole without _seaQuest_ even if we figure out how to do it right this second.”

            “But everyone is anxious to get home,” Lucas said in something approaching a whine.

            “I agree, but I would rather get us _all_ home safely in a month than land any of us somewhere worse by jumping the gun.”

            The teen sighed, but it seemed more of frustration than homesickness.

            “Hey, don’t beat yourself up, kiddo. Maybe you just need a decent night’s sleep. You’ll get it.”

            Lucas nodded and rubbed his eyes. He surveyed the room with the vast array of electronic goodies. “All right, so where should we put this stuff?”

            “Take it out to _skyQuest_. I’ll tell Kendall you’re coming. Put it wherever he has room.”

            Lucas nodded. Tim blurted a reflexive, “Aye, sir.”

            “And I’ll send some help down here.”

            “Thanks.”

            The captain patted Lucas’s back gently and left. He had every intention of calling Kendall on his PAL, but he decided it was time he checked out the trimaran himself. When he reached the top of the stairs, he found it nearly dark. The stairs were cluttered with rubble and the exit had just barely been cleared enough to get out the door. Several battery-operated floodlights had been set up outside, but the light didn’t make it down into the stairway.

            Brody appeared and gave him a hand up out of the hole. “The walls dissolved from the ultrasonic emitters, but it didn’t work on the roof,” he reported. “It fell in when there was nothing left to hold it up. We would have stopped at the first collapse, but the floor doesn’t dissolve either and it looks like one big piece. The engineering guys assured us that continuing wouldn’t hurt the basement. The roof’s in pieces, but they’re too heavy even for ten guys to lift and Ford ordered us to give it up. Dagwood might be able to budge it, but he was busy.”

            “Once we get everything we need out of the basement, let’s see if we can’t dissolve the walls down there and make this all cave in,” Bridger suggested. “Then we can try to cover it with sand.”

            Brody lifted a brow, no doubt wondering how they would fill in a hole so large. Nathan didn’t really know, but he’d wait to see if it worked before worrying about it. Burying evidence underground seemed easier than hauling it out to sea and would earn him fewer of those looks from Ford.

            “We need to get all the electronic equipment out of the room where Lucas and O’Neill were working. I’m going to talk to Kendall right now about where to put it all.”

            “I’ll send my guys down there,” Brody said.

            “Good. And I don’t have to tell you to be careful.”

            “No, sir. Those gizmos are going to get us home.”

            “That’s what we’re all hoping, Lieutenant.”

            “All right if I borrow Dagwood?”

            “As long as Dr. Smith doesn’t need him.”

            “She’s already aboard _skyQuest_. Seeing patients, from what I hear.”

            Bridger chuckled. “She’s going to be very busy for a very long time.”

            Brody nodded solemnly. He looked like he was going to say something, but evidently changed his mind.

            Nathan had already decided not push anyone to talk. This probably wasn’t a good time or place anyhow. “Have you seen Commander Ford?”

            Brody waved toward the beach. “Headed toward the sailboat, last I saw him.”

            “Good work. Carry on, Lieutenant.”

            Nathan followed a footpath toward where he saw the tall masts reaching to the sky. Judging by the fact he could still see enough not to trip, he figured the sun had to have set recently. None of the sails were up, but the solar collectors sparkled like diamonds whenever they caught the tiniest mote of light. Without her colored sails and docked in the dark, she wasn’t as beautiful as the first moment he saw her, but she still came pretty darned close. He set foot on the gangplank and found his heart racing with sheer delight and excitement.

            Halfway up, Chief Kendall appeared, standing tall and proud for a salute.

            Nathan saluted back. “Permission to come aboard?”

            Kendall opened his mouth, but the answer came from the water below: a dolphin clicked and whistled. The chief chuckled and gestured downward. “I suppose that means you best be asking the acting captain, Captain.”

            Nathan could barely see a gray beak bobbing in the dark waves, but he waved anyhow. “Hello, my friend. A very pretty boat you’ve got here. Mind if I come aboard?”

            He received some enthusiastic clicking in reply.

            Kendall spoke in a hushed voice. “There’s an entrance for him on the center hull, sir. The vocorder’s down there, if you want to talk to him.”

            “I think I’d better or he might just run off with my crew.” He said it with enough humor that Kendall wouldn’t have to defend their loyalty.

            The chief smiled, but he also shook his head. “I don’t think any of us expected him to take it so seriously, but if someone doesn’t tell him he’s relieved, there’s no telling _what_ he might do.”

            “Well, from what Piccolo tells me, this boat wasn’t his idea because he left _seaQuest_ behind to come after us. May I assume it was yours?”

            “Yes, sir, it was, but I had a lot of help building her and even more help sailing her. I did a fair job reading the maps and instruments, but if we didn’t have enlisted men and some science guys who knew how to set the sails and tack properly, we’d still be in the Black Sea, going around in circles.”

            Nathan was so proud of the way everyone had pitched in without regard to species, rank, or even military association. “Be sure to give me names when you write this all up. Looks like everyone has earned commendations on this trip and if we ever get back to our own time, I won’t rest until you all get them. Trust me, you can’t even imagine what you saved us from. Thank you.” Nathan extended his hand and Kendall took it for a hearty shake.

            “Getting everyone back safe is the best reward, Captain. Welcome home.”

            “Show me around then?”

            Kendall smiled. “My pleasure.” He called over the deck, “Darwin, go to the airlock in the hull and I’ll have someone open the door for you.”

            The dolphin chirped and then there was a splashing sound. Nathan blinked. “What, you’re communicating without a vocorder now?”

            The master chief laughed. “I don’t think he needs it half as much as we do. Or maybe I’m just so simple-minded he can figure me out easier.” He started walking with the captain close on his heels. They had solar powered night lights all over the deck so it wasn’t hard to see.

            “You know, the UEO is probably going to throw a fit when we tell them we put a dolphin in command.”

            “There was no ‘we’, sir. None of the human officers were here, including you. Darwin wasn’t physically able to confirm the computer’s command pro­posal without help.” His voice was firm and unapologetic. “The decision was ultimately mine and I’ll take whatever flak the UEO wants to dish out about it.”

            “If _I_ have anything to say about it, they’ll be dishing out a promotion.”

            “I appreciate the confidence, but my place is in the engine room, not the bridge. I’ll give orders when I have to, but being an officer isn’t for me.”

            “Are you where you want to be then? On a submarine, I mean.”

            “ _SeaQuest_ isn’t just _any_ submarine. I’d see any kind of transfer as a step backward. If you want to make me happy, just allow me to stay right where I am.” Kendall turned to meet his gaze. Nathan noticed something like love inside the sparkle of his eyes, but it wasn’t directed at him personally, it was clearly for _seaQuest_.

            “You got yourself a deal.”

            Kendall smiled and then turned and leaned so his head was directed below deck. “Vinson! Go crank the airlock door for Captain Darwin, would you?”

            “Aye, Chief!”

            “Crew quarters are down here,” Kendall said as he descended the stairs. “We’ve got twenty personnel and only eight cabins. Sorry I couldn’t put you in a cabin by yourself, but if you and Commander Ford sleep in shifts, you shouldn’t be too cramped.”

            There were four doors down each side of the long hall. The foremost and aftmost corner cabins had three nameplates on each door while the four amidship doors had just two nameplates each. Bridger and Ford shared one double cabin while Smith and Henderson had the one beside them. Nameplates for Brody and O’Neill stood across the hall from the ladies while Kendall and Ortiz shared the cabin opposite the captain’s.

            “I guarantee you this is better than where I’ve been sleeping the last six weeks. It’s perfect.” Nathan reached for the door handle just as it opened from the inside.

            “Oh, there you are,” Ford said. “I was just coming to look for you.”

            “Shall I leave you then, Captain?” Kendall asked.

            “Meet me in the lower compartment. I’ll be right there.”

            “Aye, sir.” Kendall took off toward an aft staircase that led down.

            Ford stepped out of the cabin, looking very somber.

            “What is it, Commander?”

            He turned and silently drew his nameplate out of the slot, then took a step sideways, grabbed another plate from one of the triple rooms, and placed the new plate under the one reading Bridger. When Jonathan moved his hand, Nathan read the plate he’d moved: Wolenczak. Before Nathan could open his mouth, Ford raised his hand. “He needs you. Don’t try to deny it.”

            “If we trade off shifts and hot bunk, we could share the berth, Jonathan.”

            Just then, O’Neill came down the stairs. “Sorry to overhear you, but I may have a solution. I asked Tate if he’d let me take his place on _MR-3_. Unless you object, he’ll take Lucas’s spot with the enlisted men and Commander Ford can share with Brody.”

            “Are you aware of the conditions on _MR-3_?” Bridger asked.

            O’Neill started rattling off facts, much as he did when on duty. “Thirty-seven fuel drums, half of which are empty and will likely end up with the demolished building out there, plus a portable dolphin tank which Piccolo says is a third of the size of the tank on here, so I assume that will be emptied too.”

            “There are no beds at all on _MR-3_ , Lieutenant,” Ford said.

            “At least I won’t get seasick,” O’Neill countered.

            Bridger spoke gently, “I don’t think anyone here would tease you after what we’ve been through.”

            “Maybe, but do you really want me producing that foul smell if I can prevent it just by taking the launch?”

            “He’s got a point,” Ford said.

            “What about studying the equipment? Lucas needs your help,” Bridger said.

            “According to Piccolo, both vessels have diver’s airlocks. I can always swim over when the seas are calm and leave if it gets too rough or when it’s time to sleep.”

            Nathan lowered his voice even more. “How’s your back, Tim?”

            He shrugged. “Dr. Smith says it looks like hell, but she can’t do anything at this point. I’ve already learned how to sleep on my sides and my stomach. There are padded benches on _MR-3_ , which are ten times better than what we’ve _been_ sleeping on.”

            “Your trade with Tate is approved,” Bridger said.

            “Thank you, sir.” Tim pulled the O’Neill nameplate out of the door and then entered the cabin, presumably to grab whatever clothes and gear they’d brought for him.

            “As for you,” Bridger said, whirling back to Ford, “I won’t force you in with Brody. Shuffle the names around as much as you want. Bunk with Kendall or Ortiz, if you’d rather.”

            “Jim and I will be fine together. Really.”

            Bridger cracked a small smile. “I don’t think anyone could hear what you were saying when your legs were threatened, but I’m pretty good at reading lips.” He didn’t have to say any more than that. There was no way they really despised each other as much as they pretended if they were both willing to sacrifice their right legs for each other.

            Ford looked him in the eye and nodded once. “Then you know we’ll be fine sharing a cabin.” He slipped his nameplate into the slot under Brody’s.

            “Thank you for doing that for Lucas. He’s convinced you and Brody must hate him.”

            “I know. But simply telling him it isn’t true won’t cut it. He’s too smart. We’ll have to show him.”

            “Good thinking. Not to change the subject, but how much do you know about sailing?”

            Ford cringed. “Not very much, sir. Dr. Westphalen taught me some knots though. Tell me what knot you need and I can tie it.”

            “ _Our_ Dr. Westphalen taught you how to tie knots?”

            He nodded. “She saved my life by tying me to the raft during Hurricane Sheila because Krieg and I didn’t know one end of the rope from another. She got a good laugh over our embarrassment, but after that, I asked her to teach me so I’d never be caught embarrassed again.”

            Nathan tried not to laugh at the scene he’d described. Two Naval Academy graduates literally couldn’t tie knots to save their lives, but the lady doctor could. Knowing Kristin, she got a great laugh over it, but Nathan didn’t doubt she would have been happy to teach Ford what she knew either.

            “All right, that’s good to know. I can sail fairly well, but I’m not quite fit to take long duty shifts, as you so indelicately pointed out. When I’m not available, we’re going to rely heavily on the experienced sailors among us, even if those sailors are enlisted or not in the Navy at all. Is that all right with you?”

            “Yeah. I just hope I’m not asking Piccolo for sailing lessons after this.”

            “I don’t think he is one of our experts or Kendall wouldn’t have left him on the shuttle on the trip over. But don’t sweat it too much. You’ll learn as we go.”

            “If you say so, Captain.”

            “I’m going down to the hold to officially take over command from my dolphin.” He rolled his eyes with a healthy dose of humor. “Please make sure all the electronic equipment from the basement gets stowed someplace safe.”

            “Aye, sir.” Ford took the stairs to the upper deck while Nathan went aft and took stairs down to the wet room.


	35. Chapter 35

            The dolphin tank took up at least a quarter of the space and the airlock entrance another quarter. Nathan looked around, shaking his head in wonderment. “Chief, is there anything you didn’t think of?” He patted the man on the back gently before he remembered this was one person whose back wasn’t mangled to shreds underneath his uniform.

            Kendall gave a nervous grin. “Actually, yes, there is. I didn’t put in a brig.”

            Nathan had forgotten about Hans, or as O’Neill had informed him, Jacques, the surviving whipmaster. The captain growled. “I have half a mind to keelhaul the bastard.”

            “What did he do, if you don’t mind me asking, sir?”

            “The first day we were prisoners, he and another brute gave Lucas thirty-eight lashes with cat-o-nines soaked in seawater.” He paused while Kendall absorbed the shock and put his eyeballs back in his head. “Three days later, I received forty, as did every man with us. They beat Dr. Smith’s feet sixty lashes with a strap and a stick, which is why she can’t walk.”

            Kendall nodded solemnly. “And Henderson?”

            Nathan quirked a brow. He hadn’t had a chance to find out what that madman might have done to her in private, but as far as he knew, she’d only suffered the humiliation of being watched while taking a bath. “You don’t want to know, Chief.”

            “So we’re taking a sadistic brute from fifteenth century France back to _seaQuest_ with nothing but handcuffs?”

            “Fifteenth century, are you sure?”

            “According to our records, Château d’If was built in 1524. We found no evidence of it ever being here, so I’m assuming it’s earlier than that. The science guys said late fifteenth century fit with what we’ve seen of their ships.”

            Nathan had the sudden urge to set out and look for Christopher Columbus, but he forced his mind back to his submarine and his crew. “To tell the truth, I don’t know what to do with him. He doesn’t belong on this boat, much less the _seaQuest_ , and he certainly doesn’t belong in the twenty-first century. Yet, I can’t just let him go. He told O’Neill he enjoyed beating us and he’d do it again. I can’t allow that.”

            “Can’t we just hand him off to local authorities or something? Let someone from this time decide what to do.”

            The captain didn’t like it. No matter how good O’Neill’s French was, he couldn’t possibly communicate how utterly depraved this Jacques was, nor explain what he’d been allowed to see. They were strangers here and any judge worth his salt could see that. Still, it wasn’t right to have the brute eat up their rations and possibly jeopardize their safe return home. “You may be right, but I’m not going to decide this by myself. I’ll call a meeting once we get everyone aboard. Until then, have someone tie him to the main mast. Commander Ford is good with knots.”

            “Aye, sir.” Kendall rubbed Darwin one last time and whispered what sounded like a heartfelt ‘thanks’, then he turned and left the captain alone with him.

            Nathan made sure the vocorder was on and leaned over the dolphin tank. “Hey, pal, I missed you.” He rubbed the dolphin’s melon vigorously.

            “Darwin miss Bridger.”

            “Pic—uh, Tony—said you brought the rescue party all the way here from the Black Sea. Thanks.”

            “Bridger welcome.”

            “Is it all right with you if I be the captain again? I heard you did a great job while I was gone, but you don’t have to do it anymore.”

            “Darwin keep _seaQuest_ pod safe.” Did the vocorder translate pride? It sure sounded like it.

            “You did more than that, my friend. You kept all our hopes up with your dreams. Now you get to go back to hunting for fish and playing with Lucas.”

            “Lucas hurt.”

            “Yes, I know. He is going to need time and friends to get better. Will you be his friend?”

            “Darwin be Lucas friend.”

            “I thought so. We aren’t going to weigh anchor for a while yet. Do you want to go back outside?”

            “No. Darwin rest now.”

            Dolphins didn’t actually sleep, but they rested one side of their brain at a time, closing one eye so the other could still watch for predators. Darwin didn’t need a human to tell him it was a lot safer to close one eye while inside a boat than anywhere out in open water. Nathan smiled. “Long day, huh? Go ahead and rest, pal. You’ve earned it.”

            Nathan wanted to stay and rub the slick dolphin skin, but he tore himself away and hastily climbed the stairs. He passed other crewmembers in the hall­way. It was tight, but not impossible to get around. On the main deck, he spied a box of electronic equipment being carried toward the bow and followed it. The small bridge was plexiglas on its angled sides and sported built-in radio, sonar, and other navigation equipment along with the many boxes brought from the Frenchman’s basement. Lucas was inside, directing the carriers while trying to stay out of their way.

            The captain called to him over the din. “When you run out of room up here, there’s some space in the lower hold, by Darwin’s tank. Have you been down there yet?”

            “No. I just got here.”

            “I wouldn’t take anything down there you aren’t sure is waterproof. The tank isn’t as big as the moon pool and Darwin might splash. Plus, that’s where the diving airlock is. Lieutenant O’Neill will be using it for sure, and probably Piccolo as well. They can’t be expected to come out of the water bone dry.”

            The teen shook his head in dismay, worry creased deep in his forehead. “How should I know what’s waterproof?”

            Nathan smiled. “Whatever you _put_ in a waterproof container.”

            Lucas looked up with an amused expression. He obviously hadn’t thought of that and having to be told had irritated him on some level, but the relief of the pressure must have been overwhelming. He smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

            “How much more is coming?”

            “Tim and I were able to eliminate about a third of the inventory as recognizable and therefore not what we need. Is there any other dry room?”

            “Crew quarters are aft of here. They’re very small, but feel free to put what­ever you want in our cabin.”

            The kid’s head shot up. “ _Our_ cabin?”

            “With twenty people on this tiny boat, you didn’t think _anyone_ was getting a private room, did you? You got a problem bunking with me?”

            He shook his head and tried to hide his smile. “No. I—”

            The captain waited, watching his face. The normally cocky teen seemed at a loss for words. When the latest box carrier left them alone, Nathan prodded gently, “You what?”

            “I—I think I’m going to have a problem sleeping alone. For a long time.”

            It only took two steps to close the distance between them. Nathan laid his hand on the kid’s shoulder and whispered, “You’re welcome in my cabin any time, kiddo. Even when we get back to _seaQuest_.”

            Lucas nodded but he also wore a look that said he’d be too embarrassed, too worried what everyone else would say to ever take him up on it once they got home.

            “The Black Sea is a long way from here and unless I’m mistaken, we’ll be sailing against the wind much of the time. We’ve got solar-powered water jets, but we can’t go too fast, or we’d leave _MR-3_ behind. We may even have to tow the shuttle some of the way.”

            “You’re _not_ in a hurry to get back?”

            “Not particularly. I think giving everybody shore leave would be dangerous to history, but I don’t see any reason why we can’t sail the scenic route or take a day to explore an interesting reef. There’s no UEO here to tell us what to do.”

            “What about food?”

            Nathan laughed. “It’s almost unfair how easy it is to catch fish when you have sonar, a net, plus a dolphin to help. I’m not saying I want to stay here _forever_ , mind you, but we’d be okay if you can’t figure out how to get us back. There’s a possibility this was a one-way trip and there’s nothing we can do about it from here. If so, it isn’t your fault.”

            Lucas inhaled deeply and a hint of a smile dawned. “Don’t give up on me yet.”

            “Never, Lucas. Never.”

 

* * *

 

            On a warm June night, sometime between 1450 and 1524, the atomic clock aboard _skyQuest_ reported the local time as 0100, using twenty-first century time-zone parameters. The trimaran backed slowly away from If Island, pulled by an unseen submersible. The island they left behind was so barren and plain that the large area of less-packed dirt made little difference in its overall appearance. When the sleek vessel was clear of the rocks, the tow cable was released and the huge Bermuda sails were unfurled by the weak glow of lanterns which dotted the deck. It was impossible to see the bright colors in the darkness and there were no other boats out on the water to see the spectacle in any case.

            She slipped silently into the night, slicing through the tranquil Mediterranean with no more effort than the wind filling her sails. Fifty feet below, _MR-3_ mirrored the course of the surface vessel, and had the two been visible to an outside observer, they might have been mistaken for synchronized swimmers in a gracefully choreographed dance.

            Captain Nathan Hale Bridger stood at the helm, enjoying the warm salty air blowing through his hair. He couldn’t really see across the dark waters, but Sensor Chief Ortiz was manning the sonar and would let him know if a course correction was required. Nathan was exhausted, but he didn’t want to miss the _skyQuest_ ’s first launch with him as her captain. He might have fought his fatigue longer, but he suspected Lucas wouldn’t go to bed until he turned in. He really didn’t blame the kid. He wasn’t very comfortable being alone right now either.

            After thirty minutes of indulging his senses and his pride, he placed Commander Ford and Seaman Gaines in charge and went below deck. Lucas sat on the floor in the corner of the cabin, staring intently at a large electronic console, evidently hoping to uncover its secrets by osmosis.

            “We’re clear of the island now,” Nathan said softly. “I’m ready to sleep. How about you?”

            Lucas looked like he’d been waiting for hours for an excuse to quit what he was doing. “Yeah. Absolutely. You want the top bunk or the bottom?”

            Nathan didn’t really care, but he was impressed Lucas didn’t assume he wanted the lower one. “Do I have to beat you at poker in order to claim the top?”

            Lucas shook his head. “Nope. No bets. No tricks. Your choice.”

            “I’ll take the bottom, but thanks for asking.”

            They both stripped down to their underwear and slipped into the beds, sighing with deep appreciation for the comfort so long missed. Lucas clicked off the battery-operated light and whispered, “Good night, Captain.”

            He whispered back, “Good night, kiddo.”

            It was probably no more than five minutes before both of their breathing patterns were deep and slow. The gentle rolling of the sea which lulled them into a hypnotic slumber didn’t stay gentle, but by the time it changed, they were too far gone to notice or care.

 

* * *

 

            Chief Kendall had built _skyQuest_ with a meticulous eye for safety (owing to the fact he doubted his own skills in sailing her) so it would take far more than a bit of rough seas to threaten the buoyancy of the trimaran. However, the engineer couldn’t have foreseen the dizzying array of equipment that would be added to her inventory once they reached their goal. He hadn’t built enough cabinets to secure everything they now carried and as a result, boxes and individual pieces of equipment were sliding all over the bridge in the rocking.

            Ortiz had easily divided his attention between the scant few instruments he was charged with watching. It was a small fraction of what he usually kept track of on _seaQuest_. Thus it wasn’t too hard for him to secure a wayward piece of electronic doodad or stow a sliding box every now and then. But he did have duties to perform and he was never one to shirk or minimize the importance of those duties just because he was now crewing for a tiny sailboat instead of a massive submarine.

            Ortiz was listening to the routine beeps of the sonar on headphones (taking a moment to appreciate having intact eardrums which allowed it) when something fell off a low shelf behind him. He heard it crash and grabbed the headset with intent to remove it so he could go see what had fallen. But before his hands could lift the pads from his ears, a bright blue light filled the bridge and he felt the deck shake violently. In another second, the seas were dead calm and the blue light was gone, replaced with the sunshine of midday.

 

* * *

 

            Nathan heard a loud, insistent knocking for several seconds while he was still in a twilight state of deep sleep. Commander Ford’s voice yelled through what must have been a thick wall, “Captain Bridger! Captain, wake up!”

            A young voice close-by groaned at the interruption of sleep. _Lucas._

Then the door opened and Commander Ford’s urgent tone cut through the last vestiges of slumber. “Captain!”

            Nathan’s eyes flew open. How long had he delayed? “What is it, Commander?”

            “Captain,” Ford said in a more normal volume now he could see the captain was alert. “I think we just hit another Mobius Hole. You’d better come look.”


	36. Chapter 36

            The first thing Nathan noticed was the absence of darkness. He hadn’t seen his cabin or indeed any part of the boat in daylight yet, so the bright light and the fact he’d been so deeply asleep made him feel disoriented. Still, he’d been in the Navy long enough that he could dress in under a minute. Lucas propped himself on the top bunk, rubbing his eyes quickly. He didn’t look like he planned to roll over and go back to sleep.

            Nathan pointed his index finger at him and spoke in a serious tone. “I’m not going to force you to stay in bed, but would you please go down to the hold with Darwin? I don’t want you up on deck until I know it’s safe.”

            The kid started to open his mouth to object and Nathan mentally prepared his rebuttal, but Lucas met his eyes and abruptly shut his mouth and nodded. He was either scared out of his wits or he’d finally gained enough maturity to realize this wasn’t the time to argue.

            “Lock the door and stay out of sight until someone you recognize says it’s safe. If you hear any sign of struggle, take a rebreather and swim to the shuttle. They’re better equipped to resist boarding and get you out of here.” He didn’t even know if _MR-3_ had gone through the Hole with them, but underwater with a dolphin was still a better tactical position.

            “I’m not leaving without you!”

            Nathan grabbed his shoulders and forced the teen to face him. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you either, but someone is going to have to rescue our butts if we get captured again. I’m counting on _you_.” _And O’Neill. And Piccolo._

            Lucas swallowed hard. “I won’t let you down.”

            “Good.” The captain finished tying his last shoe and dashed out the door. On deck, the sun was high in the sky and Nathan squinted against its brightness. He took a deep breath to hide his panic. Military training kicked in and it showed in his calm voice. “Status report, Commander?”

            Ford started rattling off facts. “GPS is back. We’re in the English Channel.”

            “Did the shuttle come through with us?”

            “Yes, already spoken to O’Neill. He got a fix on the Naval Observatory. It’s 16 August, 2165, 1312 hours Zulu.”

            “ _SeaQuest_?”

            “No response. Not tracking, even on her classified marker frequency.”

            The captain tried to keep his face neutral. They’d been safe this long in the Black Sea. He had to concentrate on the crew who were with him on the _skyQuest_ and the _MR-3_.

            “Captain,” Ortiz called from the bridge, “I’ve got a _Trafalgar_ -class submarine closing on _MR-3_.”

            “ _Trafalgar_? Those are pretty old, even in our day,” Ford observed quietly.

            Bridger nodded but he didn’t have time to comment before Ortiz broke in again. “They’re hailing us.”

            “On my way,” Bridger said. He figured he’d best speak in person, so he headed for the bridge. Ford caught his shoulder and pointed out on the north horizon. Two flying objects were headed toward them. _Jet copters_. He nodded to Ford. “Let’s hope we’re allies in this time. Take down the sails and cut engines. Tell _MR-3_ full stop.”

            “Aye, sir.”

            Bridger entered the enclosed room and tapped Ortiz on the shoulder. “Put me on.”

            A four-inch vid-screen on the console showed a young Royal Navy lieuten­ant. “This is _HMS Triumph_. You are in restricted waters. Please identify.”

            “This is Captain Nathan Bridger of the UEO Navy. I am aboard the trimaran _skyQuest_ , sailing directly above the shuttle launch _MR-3_ , also under my command.”

            “There is no UEO anymore, and none of our records show the UEO ever commissioned sailboats. You’re in a lot of trouble, so make things easier on yourself and tell the truth.”

            “I realize this is hard to believe, but our presence here is an accident and we apologize for violating your territorial waters. Surely you can verify we are not taking a defensive posture. We will leave immediately if you tell us what heading to take.”

            A much older man appeared behind the lieutenant and nudged him aside. He wore Royal Navy commander’s insignia. “Who did you say you were again?”

            Bridger paid a respectful nod. “Captain Nathan Bridger of the United Earth Oceans Organization. We’re victims of a time travel accident.”

            The elderly man’s eyes lit up. “Bridger? Captain of the _seaQuest_? How can I be sure?”

            “Ask me something that isn’t in the history books. Just make it before 2022.”

            “If it’s not in the history, then how would _I_ know?”

            “Some of our best officers came from the Royal Navy. You should have access to classified records that didn’t get reported to the general public.”

            “Anything that far back has been de-classified by now.”

            Bridger sighed. “I don’t know how to prove it to your satisfaction, Commander. You may as well arrest us all now.” He had to admit, he would have sent a boarding party if their places were reversed. At least no one from home would hear about this embarrassment.

            The commander’s brows furrowed. “If you really are who you say you are, then I don’t want to do that. Will you allow us to escort you to Devonport?”

            Captain Bridger inclined his head. “I thank you for the courtesy. It’s still in Plymouth, I trust. Are the jet copters with you, or do I need to contact the RAF and beg them not to blow us out of the water?” Nathan still hadn’t overcome his distrust of pilots after the _Fifi_ incident.

            “They’ve scanned your vessels and confirmed absence of weapons and your limited propulsion. They’re going to leave you to us.”

            “Again, I thank you, Commander…?”

            “Hamilton. Miles Hamilton.” His lieutenant leaned to whisper in his superior’s ear. Hamilton raised his forefinger toward the screen and Bridger waited patiently. The commander frowned and shook his head. He turned back to the vid-link with an apologetic smile. “Captain, I’ve been compelled to ask whether you might be harboring the temporal fugitive, François Beauregard, aboard either of your vessels.”

            “If I was abetting him, it would only be because he’d be holding a knife to one of my crew’s throat. But he’s dead. We do have one of his associates in our custody—a native of fifteenth century France.”

            “Beauregard is dead? You’re certain?”

            No reaction to his claim of having a prisoner from the fifteenth century? He had to hope this indicated time travel was more commonplace in this time than in his own. “I materialized a wall inside his body and my chief medical officer declared him dead in my presence. We buried the remains on If Isle, off the coast of Marseille, roughly 700 years ago.”

            The commander grinned. “I hope you’re telling me the truth, Captain. If so, you’re an even bigger hero than history has made you out. Unfortunately, the Temporal Guardian Agency won’t take anyone’s word for it, since his M.H. initiator signature was detected on your arrival and he’s eluded them several times before.”

            “Believe me, I can understand any precaution you need to take regarding that madman. Does this mean you’ll be boarding us after all?”

            “No. As far as I’m concerned, you’re our _guests_. Just be warned the reception you’ll get when you dock will be less… _trustful_.”

            Bridger smirked. “No red carpet. Understood, Commander.”

            “This probably means they’ll whisk you off to TGA headquarters in Oxford. I’m sorry if I don’t get a chance to meet you.”

            “I’m sorry as well. _SkyQuest_ out.”

            Nathan lifted his PAL to his lips. “Lucas, can you hear me?”

            His voice was a mixture of apprehension and annoyance. “I’m in the hold with Darwin, just like you asked.”

            “You can come out now. Do you think you can figure out how we got here? Some sort of time cops are going to be asking a lot of questions.”

            “Where are we?”

            “English Channel. August of 2165.”

            “I’m on it.”

            Ortiz turned around. “I think I may have a clue what happened, sir.”

            It wasn’t like the sensor chief to have tinkered with anything set strictly off-limits, especially when he was on duty. Nathan raised a brow and waited for his explanation.

            “The seas got pretty rough and something fell off the shelf behind me at exactly the same time as we hit a blue light and turbulence. I’m guessing what­ever it was hit the ‘on’ button when it landed.”

            The captain turned to survey the area behind them. One large cube of metal on the floor matched an empty spot on the shelf. “That’s probably our culprit then. Good work, Mr. Ortiz.”

            He nodded. “If we’re going to carry all this stuff much longer, we really should figure out how to batten down the hatches.”

            Nathan chuckled. “Let’s hope these temporal guardians will help us get home and we won’t need all this stuff.” He left Miguel in the bridge and returned to the upper deck.

            Commander Ford searched his face. “Well?”

            “The _HMS Triumph_ is escorting us to Devonport. Commander Hamilton had every right to board us and he refrained out of professional courtesy. However, once we dock, the time travel bobbies are probably going to greet us with extreme prejudice.”

            The commander’s normally cool expression turned to wide-eyed surprise, but he didn’t speak.

            Nathan explained, “Evidently, they have some sort of tracer on the device that got us here and it belongs to a ‘temporal fugitive’ who’s given them a lot of trouble.”

            Ford nodded. “The Frenchman.”

            “We are going to cooperate in every way possible.”

            “ _Every_ way?”

            “Yes, Commander. _Every_ way. Our own instruments tell us this is 140 years in our future. We don’t have any secrets they could possibly want. Unless you want to live out your days on a sailboat, sharing a cabin with Brody, and 140 years out of synch, we have to gain their trust and hope to God they can help us.”

            Ford cleared his throat. “What about the plague?”

            Nathan had forgotten about that. He lowered his voice. “Do you remember what year that hits?”

            “If we take the word of the CentSys computer from 2245, the plague will hit in 2185.”

            “Twenty years from now. Did we include the date when we reported our first Mobius Hole excursion?”

            Ford shook his head in a deliberate fashion: once right, once left.

            “Then I stand corrected, Commander. We _do_ have a secret of value to them.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Let’s keep that card up our sleeve for now. We’ll play the wounded victims here.”

            Amusement played in Ford’s eyes, but he didn’t crack a smile. “Play? I don’t know about you, but that isn’t going to require any deception on my part.”

            “Yes, it will. Because if I slapped you on the back right now…” Nathan mimed the motion, but stopped short of contact. “…you’d hide how much it really hurts. I’m asking everyone to stifle their pride and allow the pain to show. Don’t exaggerate it, just don’t hide it either. We _are_ the wounded party here and they need to see that.”

            “Understood, sir.”

            “Let’s get underway with solar engines only. We don’t want to _threaten_ anyone with our tremendous speed if we set sails again.”

            Ford rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I bet those jet copters were really intimidated.”

            The captain smiled. “I’m going to talk to the crew. You have the conn.”

            “Aye, sir.”

            Bridger called O’Neill first. “We’re accepting _Triumph_ ’s kind escort to Devonport. Don’t make any abrupt changes in course or speed. You can stand down from alert until _MR-3_ is docked. Leave all weapons inside when you come out and cooperate fully. Remember, we _are_ trespassing and our excuse isn’t very plausible. Don’t give them any further justification to shoot you. I don’t know if they’ll separate us all or not, but I’m hoping we can convince them we’re the victims.”

            “Understood, Captain.”

            “If we are separated for what seems an inordinate amount of time, I expect _you_ , as my chief communications officer, to find a way to get in touch with us.” He hoped Tim would figure out that he meant Transmitting to Wendy and that he’d refrain from questioning him about it over radio frequencies the Royal Navy was probably monitoring.

            “Define ‘inordinate’, sir.”

            “Any longer than it takes to interrogate all twenty people aboard _skyQuest_. I’ve never doubted your discretion, Lieutenant. Use it.”

            “Aye, aye, Captain. Smooth sailing.”

            He couldn’t suppress a chuckle. They used that expression all the time, but this was the first time he’d heard it while commanding an actual sailboat. “You too, Lieutenant. _SkyQuest_ out.”

            A knock sounded at the door. Lucas’s face was visible in the door’s large window.

            Bridger motioned him in. “Since when do you knock?”

            The teen smirked. “Since when do _you_ surrender?”

            “Since someone left my submarine in the Black Sea, 700 years away.”

            Ortiz cleared his throat. “Not technically a surrender. We’re just… _visiting_ a friendly naval base.”

            The captain nodded to Ortiz, but he spoke with a heavy dose of irony. “Where they’re going to tell us to come out with our hands up and then lead us into locked rooms where they’ll drill us with questions. Lucas has a point.”

            Ortiz crossed his arms over his chest. “All I’m giving them is name, rank and serial number.”

            “You have my permission to answer their questions,” Bridger reminded him.

            “But I’m only under your command so long as I am free. If they restrict my freedom, then I am a prisoner with the right to answer them as such.”

            Bridger beamed with pride. “In our century. But how do you know the Geneva Convention hasn’t been abolished in this time?”

            Miguel just shrugged. He wasn’t going to debate anyone. He’d made up his mind and Bridger respected that choice.

            Lucas took up his cause. “If it’s abolished, then won’t our adherence to it prove our point? That we’re from the past?”

            “It’s not proof, but I agree with his reasoning. When our rules run out, we act on conscience and gut instincts. My gut tells me anyone in authority on British soil is going to treat us better than our last captor.”

            Lucas chuckled. “So they’ll give us tea and cakes before they hang us?”

            Both Bridger and Ortiz laughed.

            “Yeah, something like that,” Bridger said. “I’m going down to talk to the rest of the crew.” He pointed to the cube-shaped metal hunk of equipment on the floor. “Mr. Ortiz tells me that thing fell off the shelf at the same time as the Mobius Hole opened. Go ahead and look, but be careful what you touch. It’s probably turned on.”

            The kid smirked. “What, not up for sailing the Nile with Cleopatra?”

            Nathan wasn’t about to let him have that one. “Nile yes, Cleopatra no. If you figure out how to work that thing, get us back to the time where we left _seaQuest_. Black Sea preferred, but any ocean will do.”

            Lucas knelt over the metal box. “Okay, no pleasure cruises.”

            Nathan left the bridge, muttering something about how much he _didn’t_ want to spend his last years building pyramids for Egyptian slavemasters.

            One cabin at a time, he broke the news that they’d gone forward in time and were about to disembark at a naval base where they’d be facing questions. “I intend to tell them the truth and ask for their help. The UEO doesn’t exist in this time, so we’re on our own.”

            Most everyone appeared more upset for having their first decent night’s sleep interrupted than at the prospect of being questioned.

            Dagwood, however, seemed extremely nervous. “Will they lock me up for killing that man?”

            “It was self-defense. I’ll tell them you did it to protect us. I can’t promise they won’t lock you up, but I will do everything I can to prevent it.” He realized how hollow that sounded. The GELF had been convicted of murder once before when he hadn’t hurt anyone at all and Nathan hadn’t been very supportive that time. Dagwood didn’t understand how to use silence as a right. It would just look like a cover-up. Nathan placed his hand on the wide shoulder. “You just tell the truth, okay?”

            “Yes sir, Captain, sir.” He didn’t look any less nervous, but he had always been good at telling the truth. And even though he was a civilian, he’d never balked at even the slightest request of the command staff.

            The ladies’ cabin was next. Henderson heard the same speech he’d given the others before he dismissed her, but he asked Dr. Smith to join him when he spoke to Brody. To Kendall, he gave as much information as he’d given Ortiz, including what the sensor chief probably overheard when he talked to Hamilton. Kendall seemed surprised and genuinely thankful they weren’t being boarded. The engineer could downplay his makeshift sailboat all he wanted, but he did have a sense of pride in her.

            After the captain gave the news to the enlisted men and scientists, he asked Brody and Smith to meet him in the wet room. It was the only place they could all sit together. They’d both already heard his speech, but he had a few things he needed to say that the rest of the crew didn’t need to hear. Dagwood took the doctor down and left her there. Bridger and Brody waited until he came up so they didn’t have to try passing his bulk in the narrow passages. The two officers went down directly after the GELF’s return.

            The sight of Darwin’s tank gave Nathan pause. He wondered whether he should let the dolphin go before they reached Devonport, but he rejected the idea just as quickly. There was no telling whether the Atlantic had become more polluted over the last 140 years or whether fishing boats still practiced dolphin-safe netting. It was probably safer just to leave him on _skyQuest_ and hope no one bothered their cetacean ensign.

            “You two both went ashore when we visited the CentSys computer in 2245, so I wanted to ask you to withhold anything we didn’t include in our official report when they question you.”

            “I thought we put everything in the report,” Dr. Smith said.

            “On the advice of the secretary general and two admirals, we conveniently ‘forgot’ to mention any date for the plague that decimates the planet. They were concerned about it when it was still 160 years in the future. So you can well imagine how critical it is we don’t mention it’s only 20 years away.”

            Wendy shook her head. “You’re right. The panic might kill tens of thousands.”

            Brody nodded.

            Nathan paused just a second before continuing. “That isn’t to say I won’t use it if I have to. If they know how to get us back but won’t do it, I’ll use the information as leverage.”

            “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” the doctor asked. Her eyes said she wanted to accuse him of breaching ethics, but she held her tongue.

            “No. But my crew comes first. We don’t belong in this time. We didn’t come here by choice and if they won’t help us get home, then we’d be in danger from this plague too. Maybe they can prepare better if they know.”

            She frowned. “If you really believed that, you’d tell them no matter what.”

            He hated it when she was right. “Then how about we agree to tell them, just hold it back a while until we’re sure we don’t need an ace in the hole?”

            Wendy’s flashed that accusatory eyebrow of hers. “A second ago, the information was ultra-classified because it would cause a dangerous panic.”

            He sighed and leaned back on the curved wall. “I was willing to keep my mouth shut when the plague was beyond my lifetime and my superiors ordered my silence. My superiors are all dead now and I’m just trying to get us all home. We have no way of knowing what the knowledge might do. These ‘time cops’ might keep it just as hushed as the UEO did.”

            Brody had been watching them argue ethics with growing frustration. “You two can fight over what to tell them and when. _My_ superiors aren’t dead yet, so I’m fine following your orders. Will there be anything else, sir?” Brody was a man of action, not a deep thinker. He wasn’t mindless, but he knew when to let the intellectuals take over.

            “No, Lieutenant. Sorry to drag you into our debate.”

            Brody shrugged and walked toward the exit. He would probably have the hardest time of anyone submitting to the custody of these Temporal Guardians without a weapon at his side, yet he hadn’t argued that point either. Some measure of his youthful gusto was gone. With all that had happened, it was a wonder anyone was functioning at all.

            “They could probably use your help up on deck, unless you’d rather stay in your cabin. You’re off duty until we dock.” The captain didn’t think Brody would try to sleep, but he might not feel like butting heads with Ford just now. There really wasn’t that much to do up there, but the sun and wind certainly felt good after their long months in that Frenchman’s prison.

            “I’ll be on deck.” He left and closed the door behind him.

            Nathan turned back to Wendy. What he really wanted right now was Professor Martinson’s holographic soundboard, but he couldn’t have it. As a psychologist, she was the next best thing. “Well? Have I rationalized my way out of this yet?”

            “Do you really need my approval?”

            “No, but I want it.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I think my own moral compass might be broken.”

            “Nathan, I’ve been inside your head, remember? You know what the biggest shock was?”

            He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, but he couldn’t very well ignore her. “What?”

            She placed her hand on top of his. “That I didn’t realize sooner how much you care about your crew. If you’re doing mental gymnastics to justify what you will or won’t say about future events that our inter- rogators can’t possibly realize you even know about, then I have no doubt it’s only because you’ve been thrust into such an impossible situation that you have no choice.

            “Let me tell you something you don’t know: the men under your command haven’t perceived the depth of your concern the same way I did, but they sense it in the way you act, the way your run your boat. They would follow you to hell and back, and they’d do it by choice, not because you’re their commanding officer.”

            She paused for a breath, paying a short smile before she jumped back in. “I don’t personally care whether you tell these people about the plague or not. Nor do I see anything wrong with using the knowledge as a bargaining chip. I just don’t want you to regret it later because you didn’t take time to consider. If you think it through and act as your conscience dictates, then I _know_ you’re making the right choice. I’m with Brody. I’m keeping quiet and letting my captain decide what’s best for us because I trust his judgment.”

            “And to hell with the rest of the world?”

            “We’re supposed to be long dead when that plague happens. Every doctor alive will be looking for a cure and according to the news we heard, they all fail. It’s not their fault any more than it would be ours, whether we say something or not.”

            He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Doctor.”

            “My pleasure, Captain.”

            He stood. “Oh, I implied O’Neill should try to Transmit to you if we were separated from the _MR-3_ crew for too long. Once we leave _skyQuest_ , I’ll never know whether we’re being watched, so I wanted to tell you now while we had some measure of privacy.”

            “Thanks for the warning. I plan to keep all my senses open while we’re under surveillance from these people. Depending on how hostile they are with us, I may be throwing my moral compass out and reading minds.”

            Nathan chuckled. “Not my empathic doctor, too?”

            Wendy didn’t speak, but her eyes clearly said, _You’d better believe it_.


	37. Chapter 37

            The Royal Navy directed _skyQuest_ to dock right next to the surfaced _MR-3._ While Ford was busy tying the sailboat off, Nathan saw O’Neill, Piccolo, Nichols, and Forrester disembark from the shuttle, all with their hands on their heads. Nathan cringed and shook his head. He had considered holding back until last, seeing to everyone else’s safety and all that, but now he knew he couldn’t. There was no safety issue here. It was just humiliating.

            “I’m going first,” he told Ford, who hadn’t yet finished securing all the ropes. Nathan really hoped he would see Kristin some day so he could tell her how enthusiastic Jonathan was about his knots. She’d appreciate that.

            The commander nodded silently to his declaration. Ford understood why without being told. Nathan could see it in his eyes. He would do the same if he was captain. The commander directed two of the enlisted men to get the gangplank ready.

            The captain glanced back on the deck where everyone stood waiting in clean _seaQuest_ jumpsuits, looking around nervously at the endless line of men on the dock, all pointing intimidating weapons toward the _skyQuest_. The gun-wielders wore red and black uniforms with silver hourglass TGA emblems emblazoned on their shirt fronts and ball caps.

            When the plank was secured, Bridger walked up to it first. Ford slipped in behind him and Brody directly after that. Although Ortiz and Kendall both held the same rank, Ortiz stepped back and allowed the engineer ahead of him, either in deference to the _skyQuest_ being his boat or perhaps because the sensor chief had taken charge of Lucas and intended to keep the teen in front of him, a move which might have been misconstrued by Kendall. Bridger felt good about Lucas’s position. He was close enough to the officers that he would feel safe, and Ortiz would keep him in line, if need be.

            However, Nathan had to admit Lucas really didn’t need babysitting anymore. Beyond the fact he was almost eighteen and had matured considerably over the last few months, he’d been especially subdued since their ordeal with the Frenchman. It was as if the last six weeks had matured him several years. The captain could only hope some of the old Lucas would come back with some counseling and emotional healing. He was still a kid and shouldn’t have to grow up _that_ fast.

            An artificially amplified voice barked out to them: “Come down one at a time, slowly, and keep your hands where we can see them.”

            Nathan inhaled deeply, laced his fingers together, placed his hands on the back of his head, and then walked slowly down the gangplank. He held his head high, focused his eyes forward, and pasted a neutral expression over his face. He wasn’t proud to be caught violating territorial waters, but he wasn’t ashamed either. He’d had just as little control arriving here as he’d had in the Black Sea. This was embarrassing, but he hadn’t lost a single member of his crew yet and considering what they’d all been through, _that_ was something to be proud of.

            Just as he set foot on the dock, two men in red and black ran up and blocked his path, forcing him to stop. One pointed his weapon at him while the other waved some sort of scanner wand around him. “Clean!” he shouted. The man with the weapon lowered it and moved aside. The man with the scanner hit him on the back. “Go wait over there.”

            The pain wasn’t really that bad. Nathan could have easily hid it if he hadn’t just lectured his XO about _not_ hiding it. “Ow,” he groaned. He turned on the man with the scanner and the other man reacted by retraining the weapon on him. Quite a few of the TGA men lining the docks also took aim. Nathan held up his hands to show he wasn’t a threat, but he didn’t reduce the fire in his eyes.

            He raised his voice, partly to communicate some anger, but also to make sure whoever was in charge heard it. “Hey, we’ve all had our backs whipped to shreds by an insane Frenchman, so I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from slapping us there.”

            The scanner man gestured to the guard to relax and gave Nathan a polite nod. “My apologies, sir. Would you please proceed over there with the others so we can finish this as quickly as possible?” He swept his hand toward where the _MR-3_ crew stood waiting.

            Satisfied he’d made his point and no one else would be touched, Nathan resumed his former course. As he neared, Dr. Forrester grinned and extended his hand. The marine biologist had never left the shuttle and therefore hadn’t yet seen any of the crew he’d helped rescue, except for O’Neill. Nathan paid him a smile in return and shook his hand. “Piccolo tells me you were the one who figured out Darwin’s cryptic message. I reckon we’d all still be waiting for him to swim the whole way otherwise, so thank you.”

            Forrester shook his head. “I really didn’t do that much, Captain. I was ready to leave Darwin alone in the Aegean because I thought he didn’t want to go back to _seaQuest_. Tony’s the one who believed in him and was prepared to swim all the way to France without the shuttle.”

            Nathan’s eyes widened. He leaned in to whisper, “Tony _Piccolo_?”

            Forrester chuckled. “Didn’t Kendall tell you? Piccolo basically threatened to accuse him of mutiny if he didn’t send us fuel or remove Darwin from command.”

            The captain stood there with his mouth open. Piccolo had stood up for Darwin, while upholding the chain of command, and still shown respect for Kendall? And not only that, but he’d somehow convinced the Acting XO to do what the crazy dolphin wanted! _I am seriously under-utilizing that young man’s talents_. If they made it home, Nathan resolved not to let that continue.

            The captain closed his mouth and chuckled softly. “I’m out of commission for a little while and my dolphin takes over, recruits a gilled crewman with a history of discipline problems, and they both manage to inspire non-coms, enlisted personnel, and civilians to build a solar-powered sailboat with whatever spit and baling wire they could scrounge up. But no one knows much about sailing, so a rag-tag crew of submariners flounder along across thousands of kilometers of sea to check out a miniscule island identified solely by a dolphin with a Napoleon complex.”

            Forrester winked. “That’s the condensed version, but yeah.”

            “I’ve got to get out more.”

            They both laughed. Ford arrived beside the captain. Forrester waved a greeting, but the commander was practicing his wounded and disgraced exterior, and doing a fabulous job. _Quit laughing and remember you’re a victim,_ Nathan admonished himself. But suddenly any notion of embarrassment over this situation seemed ridiculous. It was a downright miracle they were alive and together and if it wasn’t for the fact they’d abandoned the _seaQuest_ in the Middle Ages, he wouldn’t really give a flip whether these overzealous time-twits believed him or not. He watched as his people were scrupulously scanned, each moment working harder to stifle his impatience. After Ortiz came Dagwood carrying Dr. Smith.

            “Put the woman down and walk out by yourself,” the guard barked.

            “Do you have a wheelchair?” Dr. Smith retorted evenly.

            The dawdling hourglass boys shook their heads.

            Nathan stepped forward and spoke up. “Then you’re asking him to drop my chief medical officer on the deck and I won’t have it. Her feet are injured and she’s unable to walk. Scan them together or they both wait until you bring her a wheelchair.”

            The man with the wand directed his gaze off the dock where a Royal Navy commodore and admiral were chatting with two men in red and black blazers. A short bald man called back, “Scan them together, Ian.” At least his tone didn’t imply they’d been put-out to accommodate the injury. Ian nodded and returned to his wand-waving. Nathan tried to make eye contact with the suit who’d given the order, but the bald man returned his attention to the naval officials.

            Finally, Ian finished scanning everyone and gave a thumb’s up to the suits. The bald man walked toward the dock where the entire crew stood nervously waiting. Kendall had the sense to call attention and everyone heeded it, including Lucas and the science staff. Only Dr. Smith exempted herself, but Dagwood looked awfully stiff for a civilian carrying an injured woman in his arms.

            “Captain Bridger?” The bald man’s red and black blazer had the same silver hourglass symbol embroidered on the breast pocket.

            Nathan took a step forward. “I am.”

            “Major Edward Allen, Temporal Guardian Agency.”

            Nathan started to introduce his officers, but Major Allen precluded it. “Are there any surprises on either of your vessels we should know about?”

            “Yes. One of Beauregard’s associates is tied to the main mast. We’d be happy to relinquish his custody to you. We also have a dolphin in the center hull of the trimaran. We have a portable tank aboard the shuttle launch if you want him removed, but I request you let my people handle him.”

            “We’ll leave Ensign Darwin where he is for the moment. Anything else?”

            This time cop knew the name and rank of his dolphin? It shouldn’t have surprised him. Facts about the crew were included in official records and those records became history. No doubt they’d been digging up information ever since he identified himself in the English Channel.

            “No, nothing else.” The captain gave the “At ease” order and everyone relaxed a little.

            Major Allen asked, “And you still maintain that François Beauregard is dead? He’s not holding a knife to someone’s throat, hiding somewhere on that boat?”

            “No. He really _is_ dead.”

            The major let loose a huge sigh of relief. “We thought you were trying to tell us something.”

            Nathan frowned. “If I was, wouldn’t I _still_ be lying to protect whomever had a knife to his throat?”

            Allen looked back with a curious expression. “You might.” He waved to a team of black-and-red uniforms, calling out, “Scan everything on the highest sensitivity.”

            The scanning team answered in affirmative and jogged up the gangplank. Ian and his guard boarded the _MR-3_.

            Major Allen locked eyes with Nathan. “And now, Captain Bridger, would you like to join us inside so we can talk about getting you home?”

            “Just like that?”

            “If you’re willing to walk away, then I believe Beauregard is dead and the threat is over. You wouldn’t turn your back on a hostage.”

            “You’re right. I wouldn’t. But I’m not leaving the rest of my people with weapons pointed at them either.”

            “What?” The major acted like he hadn’t noticed. “Oh, sorry.” He turned and raised his voice. “Put the guns away.” He returned his gaze to Nathan with a sheepish expression. “That was for Beauregard, not you.”

            “But you believe me now that he’s dead?”

            “Are you coming inside?” When the captain didn’t answer immediately, he added, “We have a conference room large enough for everyone.”

            The captain narrowed his eyes. “Is it an invitation or a _strong suggestion_?”

            “For you, Captain, it’s an urgent pleading. As for the rest… I can’t allow them to wander around the base, but they may stay on the dock, if you wish.”

            “Ford, Brody, O’Neill, Ortiz, and Dr. Smith with me. Dagwood, you’ll need to carry her, so you’re with us too.”

            “Actually, he doesn’t have to. I sent for a wheelchair when you mentioned she was injured. It’s here now.” He gestured a short way off where a sailor was jogging with an empty chair in their direction.

            Nathan nodded his appreciation to Allen. He wouldn’t understand why Dagwood was so uneasy and not really suited to sit through a debriefing. If they could keep the GELF from being directly involved, it would be easier. “Good. Dagwood, please leave Dr. Smith in the wheelchair and then report to Chief Kendall.”

            Dagwood gave a lopsided smile. “Yes sir, Captain, sir.”

            Nathan continued while Dagwood carried the doctor to the chair. “Science staff may come or stay as suits your fancy. Mr. Kendall, please stay with the _skyQuest_ along with everyone I didn’t name.”

            “Aye, Captain,” Kendall said, looking quite relieved. The captain couldn’t decide if he just wanted to guard the boat or he didn’t want to be questioned.

            Dr. Hernandez opted to join the captain’s party, but Forrester decided to stay on the dock. One could hardly blame him after being stuck on that sardine can for weeks. Fresh air had to be feeling mighty good.

            Their resident computer genius had a lost look in his eyes that Nathan couldn’t place. “Lucas?”

            He faced the captain, looking a little more alert, but he didn’t say anything.

            “Do you want to come with us or stay here?”

            His blue eyes looked… conflicted. “Do you need me?”

            _Do I?_ Truthfully, Nathan didn’t relish the thought of letting the kid out of his sight, but he couldn’t argue that he wouldn’t be safe with Kendall. The captain had never forgotten how Lucas didn’t want to attend the UEO summit with Secretary Dre, but she’d compelled him to go, using a tedious computer chore against him as leverage. And Nathan had let her. Lucas almost died along with all the UEO leaders because of that. Never again would he drag the teen along just to impress people. It had to be his choice.

            The captain lowered his voice a bit. “I guess that depends on how you define ‘need’. I value your input and I want you with me, but not if you don’t want to come.”

            “No, I want to,” Lucas said. Was that eagerness in his voice or did Nathan imagine it because he wanted to hear it?

            He flashed a glance at Wendy, who arrived in the wheelchair, pushed by O’Neill. She’d been watching the whole exchange with that ‘concerned doctor’ look on her face, but when Nathan made eye contact, she just raised her brows at him and shrugged. Maybe she didn’t know what was wrong, or maybe she just wouldn’t tell him. It was a bad time anyway.

            The captain patted Lucas lightly on the shoulder and whispered, “Thanks.”

            The teen nodded and grinned in return, which was enough to assure Nathan he wasn’t coercing him.

            Major Allen gestured with a sweep of his arm and then took off at a brisk pace. The _seaQuest_ crew followed.

            They didn’t have far to walk before they came to the conference room. The building looked like most of the others on the base, utilitarian and spartan from the outside, but inside, the conference room was spacious and reasonably well-furnished with carpeting, a large oak table, and comfortable chairs. The walls had wood paneling and portraits of famous British admirals hanging every six inches. At least Nathan assumed that’s what they were. He could only identify two-thirds of the men and _those_ were famous admirals.

            O’Neill helped Dr. Smith get from the wheelchair to one of the conference chairs.  The rest took seats around the table without regard to rank or position. Lucas sat on Nathan’s left, Ortiz on his right. How long had it been since they’d sat in chairs that weren’t made of stone? It felt like years.

            The major folded his hands and set them atop the table. “Perhaps we should start with introductions. Captain?”

            Nathan took his cue. “Commander Jonathan Ford, my executive officer.” He indicated Ford and gave him time to acknowledge with a nod. “Lieutenants Jim Brody and Tim O’Neill, Sensor Chief Miguel Ortiz, my chief medical officer: Dr. Wendy Smith, and Dr. Alberto Hernandez, one of our research scientists whose sailing expertise has proven invaluable on this trip.”

            The major gave a nod to each one in turn, greeting everyone with a rank or ‘doctor’ appellation.

            “And this is Lucas Wolenczak, my chief computer analyst.”

            The major’s eyes lit up with what had to be recognition of the young man’s future accomplishments. “Mr. Wolenczak, a pleasure. And I am Edward Allen, head of the Temporal Guardian Agency. We try to make sure only author­ized historians and Temporal Agents have access to Mobius Hole technology, so no one disrupts history or uses time travel to evade the law. We’ve been after François Beauregard for a very long time. He is the ‘Most Wanted’ time criminal on our books. How much damage has he done to your crew?”

            Nathan looked around at the faces, seeking someone willing to answer. They all nodded tacit permission for him to answer on their behalf. He drew a deep breath. “That madman tortured eleven of us for over six weeks. The men were whipped with cat-o-nine-tails on their backs. Dr. Smith was beaten on her feet with a rod and a strap.”

            He paused. There was no point in bringing up the psychological effects if the major wasn’t awed with beatings. Major Allen looked very concerned, wincing and shaking his head in sympathy.

            “He kept us all in solitary confinement…” Nathan was about to say ‘except during torture sessions’, but Ortiz cocked a brow at him. The captain could have continued without skipping a beat, but he hadn’t intended to lie. “Excuse me, he kept _most_ of us in solitary confinement except to force us to watch each other’s tortures and…” He looked back and forth between Ortiz, Smith, and O’Neill.

            Wendy spoke up to finish the sentence, “…and he forced Henderson and me to choose mates because he wanted us to _breed_.” She used a suitably disgusted inflection on the last word.

            “But that wasn’t until the last week or so,” Ortiz added.

            Nathan returned to his narrative. “He put Ford and Brody’s legs in guillotines and then asked Lucas to choose who lost a leg.”

            “But I refused to choose,” Lucas said, “so he chopped off both of them, or so it appeared.”

            “We thought so too,” Brody said. “The blade fell and the pain was intense. There was lots of blood. I still don’t know if he cut my leg off and reattached it or if he just made it look like it. There’s a pretty nasty scar.”

            Major Allen scoffed. “If he left your leg intact, it was only so he could take it off more slowly and painfully the next time.” He stopped himself and raised both hands. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to belittle your suffering.” He motioned for Brody to continue, but Brody looked back at the captain.

            Nathan licked his lips. “You’re already aware what Beauregard is capable of. And now he’s dead. Is there any reason for us to elaborate further?”

            “We need your depositions in order to decide the fate of that associate of his. What were you planning to do with him?”

            “Lieutenant O’Neill questioned him, but he showed no remorse. I felt it would be irresponsible to just set him free. I hadn’t decided what to do with him yet.”

            “Then you have no objections if we try him as a time criminal.” It was a statement, not a question.

            “As long as you give me your personal assurance he will never be able to hurt anyone like he hurt us.”

            “That would be our goal, of course.”

            Nathan could tell several of his men were biting their lips and barely holding back their anger. “I’m told there’s no UEO in this time period, so if anyone has anything to say, it cannot be held against you. Speak freely.”

            O’Neill coughed and cleared his throat. “If you had ever put it to a vote, Captain, I would have endorsed capital punishment.”

            Hernandez looked shocked, but the rest of the men nodded agreement with O’Neill’s opinion. Wendy just stared with a blank expression.

            “Wendy?” Nathan prodded softly.

            She shook her head vigorously. “I don’t want to be involved in that decision. I’m not objective.”

            “None of us are objective.”

            “So what are you asking me? Do I want to see him dead? Yes, I do. But the fact I want it so much disturbs me. Make sure he isn’t able to do it again and don’t tell me how you were able to ensure that because I will sleep better if I can pretend he’s rotting away in solitary confinement on some isolated island with no hope of escape.”

            Major Allen nodded to her and spoke with compassion in his voice. “Doctor, I promise your suggestions will be taken into consideration. Does anyone else want to add anything?”

            “How about getting us all home?” Lucas asked.

            “We can simply send you back within an hour of when after you disappeared. But first we should like to minimize the damage as much as we can. Did any of the crew die?”

            “No. We haven’t lost anyone.”

            The major breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s one thing we can’t fix. I can offer you all medical treatment. Our plastic surgery is surely much more advanced than yours. We can remove all your scars completely. Dr. Smith, do you have a diagnosis for your feet?”

            She shook her head. “All my medical equipment is back on _seaQuest._ I’m sure there are multiple hairline fractures of the metatarsals, but probably no full breaks.”

            “We will have you seen by the best doctors in the country. Your feet will be good as new when they’re done. Normally we’d take you all to Oxford for your rehabilitation, but I suspect you want to stay with your vessels. I’ve already arranged with the Royal Navy to accommodate you on base if you’d rather.”

            Everyone looked around at each other, obviously impressed.

            Lucas broke the silence. “Look, I don’t know about anybody else, but wiping the scars off my back is not quite enough to make this all ‘go away’. I’m damaged up here…” He pointed to his temple, “more than back there.” He thumbed over his shoulder.

            The major leaned forward in his chair and spoke in a soft, caring tone. “If you want to forget this ever happened, Mr. Wolenczak, we can arrange that. We have the technology to wipe all of your memories clean.”

            Alarm entered the captain’s voice. “Do we have a choice?”

            “Yes, of course, Captain. No one will be forced to accept any treatment of any kind they don’t want. I am merely offering what little I have. We just want to get you all back to your own time with as little disruption to history as possible.”

            “And the rest of my crew?”

            “Of course. Everyone who needs it will get medical treatment.”

            “Thank you, but actually, I’m a bit more concerned about the _seaQuest_ and the 80 people we left behind.”

            “The _seaQuest_?” Allen looked truly shocked. “Left behind, _where_?”

            “Back in the fifteenth century, stranded in the Black Sea, where Beauregard put her. My chief engineer only built the trimaran because he couldn’t get _seaQuest_ through the Turkish Straits. The shuttle and the sailboat came to rescue everyone who Beauregard kidnapped off of _seaQuest_.”

            Major Allen stood. “The _seaQuest_ herself went through the Mobius Hole?”

            Nathan frowned. Wasn’t that obvious? “Yes, Major.”

            He gasped softly and shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Yes, of course. That explains it.”

            “Explains what?”

            He raised his voice back to a normal volume. “How we found you. Beauregard has been kidnapping people all over the world and throughout history. We never could track it until his last snatch. We knew he transported something big, because the power drain was enormous. That’s how we isolated his M.H. initiator frequency, so we could tack a homer on it.”

            Lucas’s eyes lit up like they did whenever he got an idea or understood something important. “A homer. _You_ set it up so any new Mobius Hole would force whoever activated the device back here.”

            “That was the idea, Mr. Wolenczak. We thought it would be Beauregard himself.”

            “So you can track what time we came from to go get the _seaQuest_ , right?” Lucas asked.

            Major Allen was staring off into space with a faraway look in his eyes. He nodded absently and barely breathed, “Oh sure, sure.”

            Excited chatter broke out around the table, and Nathan exchanged smiles with Lucas first, then his officers. He might have shushed everyone sooner, but Major Allen looked preoccupied and didn’t appear to be paying any attention anyway. The excited whispers continued for almost a full minute before Major Allen’s voice rang out over the din.

            “Captain Bridger, I need to speak to you. Alone.”


	38. Chapter 38

            Silence engulfed the room. No one so much as blinked for several seconds while Nathan stared at Major Allen. The TGA official swallowed hard. “Please,” he added.

            Still, no one moved. Nathan felt his people watching him for a cue. Part of him savored little moments like these when their loyalty to him was so palpable, so absolute. The king himself (assuming the Brits still had one) could walk in and ask them all to step out, but he could feel in his bones that his crew wouldn’t move for anyone but him. However, Nathan also knew the key to retaining loyalty like that was never to take it for granted or waste it on anything frivolous. He locked eyes with Ford and nodded his assent, then he adopted his best PR voice. “Gentlemen and doctor, if you’d kindly excuse us?”

            Everyone nodded and stood immediately, except for Dr. Smith, who reached for her wheelchair. O’Neill moved in to help her without being asked. Major Allen breathed a sigh of relief. “I trust you can all find your way back to the docks. We’ll get you all better quarters before nightfall.”

            “But no one will be _required_ to leave the _skyQuest_ or the _MR-3_ ,” Nathan added with a hint of insistence.

            “Of course. Your crew’s accommodations will be completely at _your_ discretion, Captain.”

            “I’m sorry to sound ungrateful, Major, but some of us have been imprisoned until quite recently and therefore have an acute appreciation for being allowed choices. As far as I’m concerned, only Dr. Smith may override any of the crew’s personal preferences concerning accepting base accommodations. I trust she would only do so for their health.” Nathan met Wendy’s gaze and she nodded. He looked around at the rest. “We’ll all talk later.”

            They nodded and moved away from the table. Lucas hung back a second, but he didn’t speak. The captain caught his hand before he got away, grasping it like he’d seen the teen grasp hands with his peers, so it didn’t look uncool. He squeezed very briefly before releasing it, but the look on Lucas’s face confirmed the gesture was encouraging. The teen flashed a quick smile and dashed off to catch up with Brody and Ortiz, who’d waited for him at the door.

            Major Allen walked to the door and locked it. Although it spurred a sudden increase of heart rate, the captain understood it was locked from the inside and the realization moderated his increased pulse. “Well, Major, you have my undivided attention.”

            Allen retook his seat, choosing a chair closer to the captain, but not so close they couldn’t have good eye contact. He wiped his brow and laced his fingers together, trying to hide his shaking hands. “Captain, I could lose my job for what I’m about to tell you. Hell, I could jeopardize my very existence if what I propose actually works. I wasn’t going to say anything when I thought it was just you and twenty-three crew with a sailboat and a shuttle. But now I know we have to transport over a hundred people and the _seaQuest_ herself, this becomes a lot more relevant and infinitely more important.” There was a nervous waver in his voice that hadn’t been present before.

            Nathan listened, watching the man intently. He gave him a reassuring nod at appropriate moments so his nervousness didn’t become too overwhelming.

            “Temporal agents take oaths never to use time travel to change history, even for the better. We had an agent once who tried to kill Adolf Hitler while he was a child. The agent’s sniper rifle inexplicably blew up in his face, killing him instead. There are several other examples, but they’re in our recent history, after your time. Just take my word for it that time-tampering is dangerous and almost always backfires.”

            Nathan nodded again.

            “When a breach has been caused by someone else, such as Beauregard, our job is to minimize the damage so history can resume its natural course. But what _is_ natural? I know this is going to sound ludicrous, Captain, but there’s just no other way to break this. The day you became trapped in Beauregard’s Mobius Hole is just one week before _seaQuest_ was stolen from this planet by aliens.”

            A few years ago, any mention of aliens would have brought laughter, but Nathan knew better now. He’d uncovered a ship deep in the ocean that had been there for millennia and his good friend, Scott Keller, had left Earth with another alien who’d been living here in disguise. What really caught his attention wasn’t aliens, but that other word. His concern melted into a deep-seated resentment. He managed to train his voice into something other than a growl, but it wasn’t far off. “ _Stolen_ , Major?”

            “Yes, Captain. _Stolen_. A big, fat mothership sucks you right out of the ocean and uses your ship as a pawn in their civil war, light years away. The _seaQuest_ is missing from a very critical period of our history, ten years, to be exact. Your absence damages this planet in ways you can’t possibly imagine. In 2032, the ship shows up in a cornfield, miles from any ocean, and about a third of the crew reappear in various parts of the world, with no memory of what happened, and not having aged a day in those ten years. The other two-thirds are never seen again.”

            Nathan’s jaw dropped. He was stunned, furious, and heartsick all at once. He desperately wanted details, but he wasn’t sure he could get his mouth to ask the right questions. He didn’t speak for several long seconds and the Major held his tongue while the bombshell sunk in. The captain drew a deep breath. “If they… uh, _we_ don’t remember anything, then how do _you_ know what really happened?”

            “We’ve sent temporal agents back and pieced things together by observation and interview.”

             “Why are you telling me now?”

            Major Allen leaned in closer. “Because, Captain, I don’t believe aliens had any right to mess with Earth’s history. Beauregard stole your ship and tortured her crew. We treat that as a crime. We don’t think it’s wrong to undo that damage by healing your wounds and taking you and your ship back where you came from. Now, some of my colleagues would disagree, but I don’t see how some distant planet where _seaQuest_ obviously doesn’t belong is any different than the Black Sea in 1504. Both were abductions perpetrated by selfish beings for their own twisted purposes, and neither played fair.”

            Nathan’s voice was calmer now. “You want to change history.”

            Major Allen stood and started pacing. “I’d like to think of it as **_fixing_** history. I’m not supposed to tell you what conditions are like here in 2165, but I’m going to anyway. I hope it will help you see why this is important.”

            The captain nodded and shifted his chair so he could watch the major pace without craning his neck.

            “In 2026, the UEO lifted the ban on colonial deregulation and thousands of new colonies sprung up overnight, but without the proper infrastructure to govern or protect those colonies. By the time _seaQuest_ returned, the UEO was just barely alive. The _seaQuest_ put up a good fight, but it was too little, too late. The _seaQuest_ was destroyed and the UEO dissolved in 2039.”

            He paused only long enough to catch his breath, and then plunged in again. “The Macronesian Alliance bought up all the industry and banking in California. The state was desperate for cash after a massive earthquake sunk a good deal of their expensive real estate. The Macronesians quietly pushed the state to secede from the U.S. It was touted as very bohemian and berkley. Populace had no idea they’d been manipulated by outside forces. After all, they were on land and no one had guessed the Macronesians cared about the continents.

            “Alaska and Hawaii weren’t far behind California. When the United States lost so much Pacific coastline and so many of their naval bases, they pulled out of the Pacific completely. With no UEO and no American Navy, it was very easy for the Macronesians to take over the entire Pacific. Most of the colonies there now are nothing more than slave labor camps.

            “The Republics of California and Hawaii aren’t much better off, but when the poor, duped souls tried to re-enter the United States, they were given the cold shoulder. The Sovereign Nation of Alaska didn’t even try, but they’re in a better economic condition to repel the Macronesians than the Californians and Hawaiians.

            “I can’t say we were very sympathetic to their plight on this side of the pond. We couldn’t afford for the Americans to send any of their forces back to the Pacific. The Royal Navy and the American Navy along with a smattering of various European forces are still fighting to keep the Atlantic free. You saw how bad off we are. We had to re-commission every old sub we could keep from leaking, including some diesels. Someone in Parliament even suggested putting the _HMS Victory_ back in action, that’s how dire the situation is.”

            Nathan glanced at the portrait of Admiral Nelson, wondering what he might think to hear a statement like that.

            Major Allen took a deep breath and composed himself a little. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to whine about our present problems. All the oceans in the world might have been taken over by the Macronesians by now if it weren’t for the Chaodai. The Macronesians and the Chaodai spent a lot of their energy and resources fighting each other over the last hundred years, which was actually good for us. The Chaodai own the Indian Ocean and much of the South Atlantic. They didn’t enslave the colonies they took over. They just slaughtered everyone who didn’t have the right racial or political background. The only thing they’ve been good for is keeping the Macronesians in check. The only free waters left in the world now are in the North Atlantic, the Arctic, and the Mediterranean. But I don’t see how we can hold out much longer, especially considering the plague that’s coming.”

            At this, Nathan gasped. He no longer felt he needed that ace up his sleeve, but he was still shocked to discover it wasn’t the secret he thought it was.

            Major Allen stopped in his tracks and gave the captain a long stare. “Of course you knew, because of your contact with CentSys historical records. We know about your other experience with a Mobius Hole.” He waved it off as irrelevant. “Well, I’d be lying if I told you the Temporal Guardians didn’t know the plague was coming or that part of my motive for trying to fix all this isn’t selfish. I admit it. Everyone who knows is terrified. You think it’s easy knowing a plague is set to hit in twenty years and no one will be able to stop it?

            “However, I do know one thing you don’t. Only a handful of temporal agents and molecular biologists know this, and I doubt it will ever make it into the official records because the victors always write the history. The plague isn’t organic. It’s a biological warfare virus, genetically engineered by the Chaodai.”

            “But what does all this have to do with the _seaQuest_?”

            “Everything. Almost every historian in what’s left of the free world is convinced that neither the Macronesian Alliance nor the Chaodai could ever have gotten as far as they did without the devastating vacuum left by the disappearance of the _seaQuest_. If _seaQuest_ had been there, it could have nipped this crazy underwater imperialism in the bud. Quickly. Easily. Efficiently. But more importantly, I believe the dynamic people who make up your crew would have all contributed immensely in those lost years.

            “Jonathan Ford’s family has the economic background to have seen how stupid it was to lift that ban. If someone of Commander Ford’s reputation had spoken out in 2026 against that monumentally stupid move, maybe the idiots would have listened. The UEO might have built more than one _seaQuest_ -class sub if _you_ had been there, prodding them and lobbying for it. If Wolenczak, Ortiz, and Daniels had been able to crack the whale language, who knows what the whales might have told us. Eighty percent of the species alive and thriving in your time are now extinct.”

            Nathan sighed and shook his head. This was an awfully bitter pill to swallow.

            Major Allen set his hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “I know this is a lot to take in. I don’t need an answer now. It will take a few days to get Dr. Smith back on her feet and a little longer to perform plastic surgery and wipe memories. You can take all the time you need, either just to rest or to deliberate. If you choose, we can arrange it so you won’t remember this conversation ever happened. But before I leave you to think about this, I have a recording you need to see.”

            The captain didn’t feel psychologically strong enough to gaze on thousands of whale carcasses or look at more newsreels of plague-struck masses suffering without hope. But he always gathered information before he made a decision, and a decision of this magnitude demanded he accept every bit of data they offered. Numbly, Nathan nodded.

            “You remember I told you we sent temporal agents back in time to witness events for themselves and to interview those who were involved?”

            “Yes.”

            “I was one of the lucky ones. Most of the agents we sent to monitor _seaQuest_ right before the alien abduction never made it back alive. None who boarded the sub lived to tell about it. But I have talked to some of the surviving crew in their later years, one particularly, after he found a way to retrieve the memories the aliens suppressed. He implored me to share this with you if I ever got the chance. Frankly, I didn’t think I’d ever get that chance, but this man is very persuasive when he wants to be, so I gave him my word and recorded his message.”

            Nathan swallowed and closed his eyes. “Who is it?”

            “It’s you.”

            His eyes flew open. “Me?”

            “Yes you, Nathan.”

            The captain didn’t intend to give him a disparaging look, but he must have reacted strangely to the use of his familiar name because the major felt it necessary to explain.

            “I spent a month on Bridger’s Island in 2042, trying to gain your trust. You finally agreed to answer a few questions. But the nature of my questions inevitably led to who I was and why I asked and, like I said, you’re pretty persuasive.”

            “We’re friends?”

            “I wouldn’t presume to know _your_ feelings, but I am trusting you with the very future of this planet. I hope you don’t think I’d throw that kind of faith around lightly.”

            “All right. Let’s see it.”

            “I should warn you, you’re quite a bit older than you are now. I recorded this ten years after you came back from the alien world.” The major pushed buttons on his wrist-mounted PDA and pulled a tiny retractable cord out. He plugged the jack into a terminal on the conference table. One of the portraits on the wall slid aside to reveal a vid-screen. “This file isn’t part of the official TGA archives. I’ve kept it in my personal possession. It is meant for you and anyone you want to see it afterwards, but then I delete it. If I’m caught with this, I could go to prison for the rest of my life.”

            Nathan nodded. 2042 was only twenty years away. Subtracting ten years to fit this bizarre story, he should only appear 69. Yet the face that appeared on the screen didn’t look 69, or even 79. It wasn’t that Nathan couldn’t accept himself aging, it was just so different, so... shocking. He’d had wrinkles for a while now, but they were clearly lines of character, borne of days spent in the Caribbean sun and years of laughing with Carol. The image before him had deep lines of sorrow etched in his face and sunken eyes that had lost all sparkle and vitality. Even when he’d forsaken the rest of the world to live alone on his island, he’d never looked like that. Indeed, for a second, Nathan decided this had to be a hoax. The renegade Marauder-sub persona had been a better copy of him than this sorry piece of cinematography.

            “Nathan, don’t let this be you,” the old man on the screen said. Something about his tone and his manner of speaking started to chip away at the present Nathan’s doubt. “Look, I know you don’t want to listen to a long sob story and Edward promised me he’ll take care of the general history if he ever gets the opportunity to talk to you. But there are some things I need to say.

            “You’re going to receive a distress call from the Scott-man. He will say things only Scott could know, but the aliens from Hyberion have already taken over his mind. I know it will go against every loyal bone in your body, but it isn’t Scott. You’ve _got_ to ignore it. Do you hear me, pal? Ignore Scott Keller. You can’t help him, and even if you could, the price is too high.”

            The old man on the screen coughed and took a drink of water. “Edward has explained to me how risky it might be to try to fix this, but you _have_ to try…” The old man shook his finger at the screen, revealing a bony, arthritis-twisted hand. “Ignoring Scott might not be enough. The _seaQuest_ is fast, but she can’t outrun a spaceship and she can’t hide from their levitation beam. I’m going to tell you what I did so you don’t make the same mistakes. You’ll need to write things down and put the letter somewhere it will be safe for ten years in case that damned Hyberion mothership snatches _seaQuest_ out of the ocean despite our best efforts to avoid it. You’ll still lose Wendy and Miguel, but it won’t be your fault if you don’t listen to that apparition of Scott.”

            The captain shifted uncomfortably in his chair. They might have done a bad job on the exterior package, but that sure as heck sounded like him. His heart sank to hear Wendy and Miguel would be lost. If he decided this was true, he knew he could never sacrifice them for Scott, no matter what their friendship meant to him. Scott would understand. The Commander Keller he knew would feel the same way if their places were reversed.

            “All right, I’ve told you what to avoid, but I haven’t told you why. You have to make better choices than I did. You are the designer of the _seaQuest_. She’s _your boat_ , not Oliver Hudson’s and not even Jonathan Ford’s. _You_ belong in command and don’t let anyone tell you different. When you look like this,” the old man pointed to himself, “then you can hand her over to one of them, if you want, but not before that. And for God’s sake, man, don’t fall for the Macronesians’ ploy like I did!”

            From somewhere off-camera, Major Allen’s voice spoke softly. “I’m not going to explain that. He’d never believe me.”

            The old man sighed and nodded his disheveled head. His hair was white and thinning badly, and it looked like he never saw a barber, but cut it himself when a strand got in his way. “I gave up everything because someone handed me sweet little boy of six and told me he was my grandson.” His eyes misted up and his voice wavered. “I can’t tell you not to love the boy. I hope to God he’s never created in that damned genetic lab of theirs, but if he is, he will need your love. I’m not telling you to reject him, just don’t believe all the lies they feed you.” He paused and took a deep breath.

            “They told me he was Robert’s son. He had Carol’s eyes and Robert’s nose, so I wanted to believe them. They told me his mother left him at an embassy because she was too ill to care for him. Come on! What kind of mother would leave a three-day-old infant and never try to find out what became of him? What father would allow it? The truth is, the Macronesians used cloning technology to create him. They used DNA from Robert’s hair which they found in one of his old ballcaps from his Academy days. He’d given it to a casual girlfriend that the Macronesians paid handsomely to donate the maternal DNA. That way, if I ever tracked her down, she might be able to fool me into believing she was the mother.

            “Robert wasn’t alive to father a child, but the Macronesians knew if I had reason to believe he was, I’d abandon _seaQuest_ to go look for him. I loved Robert. I know you loved him too. But he’s dead, Nathan. They will find his dogtags and his remains in the North Atlantic. Edward knows where they are now. Go lay some flowers or something. But damn it, don’t let the whole planet go to hell because of your wishful dreams.”

            The old man took another drink from his glass and inhaled deeply. “They had to clone Robert to a point where they could get a gamete and they had to do it fast. They took a lot of shortcuts and they didn’t care how it would affect poor Michael. Everything was accelerated with radiation and experimental drugs, but it was all done before he was born or shortly thereafter. He didn’t know. All of this caught up to him when he reached puberty. At age twelve, his DNA broke down and he just…” The old man paused to turn his head. Major Allen handed him a tissue and the old man took it and dabbed at his eyes.

            “Michael never had a chance. He had DNA from me and Carol and Robert, and I loved him like a grandson, but he was a decoy, a planted fake designed to draw me away from _seaQuest_ , and I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.” The old man made a fist and pounded it on a table. More tears fell, but he didn’t attempt to hide them. “And if it wasn’t bad enough to leave my command to chase after the ghost of Robert, I abandoned the one good thing in my life that _was_ real. I abandoned Lucas.” The tears fell faster now, one over the other, but the old man ignored them in favor of getting through what he needed to say.

            “Both his parents were killed while we were on Hyberion. When we got back, he had no family and no home. I turned my back on him because I wanted to concentrate on raising Michael and finding Robert. I didn’t want any part of this new war in this new time. Lucas was forced to join the Navy just to have a place to live and I had the gall to ridicule him for it! We fought over some petty matters and I was an ass. A capital ‘A’, selfish ass. He ended up forgiving me after Michael died, not because I deserved it, because I most certainly didn’t. He turned out to be a better man than I ever was, despite the lousy way I treated him.”

            The old man swabbed at his eyes with the tissue, probably because his eyes were so full of tears he couldn’t see. “Listen to me, Nathan Bridger. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. With the exception of Benjamin Krieg, every officer I ever commanded or taught at the Academy is now dead. Lucas is dead. The _seaQuest_ is gone and the oceans have been infested with the worst humanity has to offer. You have **_got_** to fix this or die trying.”

            The screen faded to black and a timestamp came up, showing 23 December 2042. Lucas’s birthday.


	39. Chapter 39

            Nathan sat, staring at the blank screen for what seemed eternity. The wheels of his mind were spinning, but his emotions ran even faster. Major Allen, or, if he was to believe what he’d just seen, Edward, didn’t move or make a sound. He didn’t press the button to slide the portrait back over the vid-screen or disconnect the wire between his wrist-PDA and the console. Nathan had almost forgotten he was in the room when Edward whispered, “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

            The captain inhaled deeply. “Robert. You know where Robert is?”

            “His submarine’s resting place is designated a memorial site, at least as long as we control the North Atlantic. I could probably get Commander Hamilton to take you out there, but it would be dangerous. The Chaodai have plenty of attack subs faster than an old dinosaur like _Triumph_.”

            He shook his head. “I don’t want to put anyone in danger to go look at an ancient wreck. I said something about dog tags?”

            “The Americans sent a robotic rover down. Too deep for divers. They only collected dog tags and the log books, small things like that. You had no other descendants to be given Robert’s tags, so they were placed in a memorial in Juneau, Alaska.”

            “NorPac’s old headquarters.”

            Edward nodded. “I pulled them from the memorial’s ruins in 2097 and brought them to you in 2042 to bolster my story. You gave them back to me after you made that recording. You said it was more important for _you_ to have them. The younger you, I mean.”

            _Was there any time in history this guy hadn’t visited?_ Nathan nodded.

            “I don’t have them with me. Strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to bring back artifacts or souvenirs, so they’re in my home safe.”

            “Give me until tomorrow morning. If I decide I believe you, then you’ll need to convince Commander Ford next, because I am _not_ making a decision of this importance alone.”

            Edward chuckled as he retracted the cord into his wrist-PDA. “You predicted you’d say that. And that you’ll let him see the recording, but not anyone else.”

            Nathan forced a half-laugh. “Did I predict whether I’d believe any of this?”

            “No. I was pretty pessimistic I’d ever meet you at the right time. You knew the whole proposal was a long-shot. The only thing I laid odds on was that you’d absolutely do whatever you felt was best for your crew.”

            “They deserve that much.”

            “No argument here. Can I walk you back to your boat?”

            He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, but with so much on his mind, he might not pay enough attention to where he was. He didn’t need some Royal Navy midshipman escorting him to the docks because he’d gotten lost. “Yeah, thanks.”

            They walked in silence. Edward sidestepped as soon as the docks were in sight. “I’m going to check on the accommodations.”

            “Do me a favor?”

            He blinked. “Anything, Captain.”

            “Don’t offer any private quarters.” Nathan didn’t explain. He didn’t think any of the recently liberated prisoners would choose to be alone if they could avoid it, so he was making sure they wouldn’t have to.

            “Not even for you?”

            “I’ll be staying on _skyQuest_.”

            “Of course. No private rooms. Consider it done.”

            “Thank you. When should I expect you tomorrow?”

            “Is zero nine hundred too early?”

            “See you then.” Nathan turned toward the dock. Despite trying to stay objective, he was starting to like Edward. The man seemed to understand very well when Nathan needed contemplative silence. They parted company without another word. A little way past the boats, he saw a group of men in t-shirts, half of them dark blue with Royal Navy insignia and the other half white with the hammerhead and triangle _seaQuest_ emblem. They were playing basketball. Curious, he bypassed the _skyQuest_ to head toward the game.

            As he got closer, he could identify the _seaQuest_ players: Brody, Ford, Piccolo, Kendall, and Lucas. The game was quite animated on both sides, but from the score shouted after every basket, it appeared Team UEO was winning. It was so good to see his people laughing and moving freely, Brody and Ford running around on legs he’d so recently thought were gone.

            Piccolo called out around heavy breathing, “Hey, Cap, you wanna play? I’m too short for this.”

            Nathan smiled and waved him off. “Sounds like you’re doing fine without my help. Carry on.” He had too much on his mind right now, and besides, he didn’t feel the need to pull at the still-sore muscles in his back just to show-up some twenty-second century Brits.

            Ford eyed him and stopped running, concern tugging at his brows. “Captain? Everything all right?”

            Nathan wanted to say everything was fine, but he didn’t lie to his XO. Besides the fact it was a bad overall policy, he didn’t want Ford to doubt his instincts. The commander had correctly perceived something was amiss, and it would only weaken his observation and deduction skills if Nathan denied the truth. “Enjoy your game, Jonathan. We’ll talk later.”

            Ford studied him a few seconds before he nodded and returned his attention to the ball. Nathan watched the game for a few minutes, until he realized he was staring at Lucas while his mind replayed a looping repetition of his own aged voice admitting he’d abandoned the teen and then ridiculed him for choices forced upon him when he was so vulnerable. Thankfully, the game distracted everyone enough that his stare probably wasn’t noticed. He quietly turned and left the court before he could embarrass Lucas or himself.

            He returned to _skyQuest_ and found O’Neill in charge. The trimaran was docked in a foreign naval base and she’d already been boarded and scanned, so there really wasn’t much to guard, but he wasn’t taking his duty lightly. He saluted the captain. “I have a report if you’d like to hear it, Captain.”

            Nathan returned the salute. “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

            “I checked _MR-3_ as soon as we got back and secured the hatch by electronic code. Chief Kendall reports all electronic devices we loaded from If were removed by the Temporal Guardian Agents.

            “That’s all right. None of that was ours and we didn’t know how to use it anyway.”

            “Lucas and I copied the vid-files to UEO-compatible discs, Captain. They didn’t take those.”

            Nathan smiled. Chalk up another one to the Brain Trust. At least they had a speck of evidence to show the people back home when they returned with such an unbelievable story. “Good work. Please continue.”

            “Dr. Smith is on base at the hospital wing, being examined by podiatrists. Darwin is safe in the lower hold. Lucas and Piccolo checked on him before they joined Commander Ford, Kendall, and Brody in a friendly game of basket­ball near the dock. All other personnel are present aboard _skyQuest_ , either in quarters or on the upper deck.”

            The captain listened to his lieutenant’s report, giving it the attention earned by its careful compilation. But after he gave it professional acknowledgement, he lowered his voice and used a casual tone. “Tim, did you order everyone to stay this close?”

            “No, sir. Commander Ford said everyone was essentially off-duty and free to go wherever the Royal Navy would allow.”

            “So they all _chose_ to be here?”

            “Yes sir.”

            “And you?”

            “No motion sickness while she’s docked. I volunteered to take over so the chief could help the commander uphold the _seaQuest_ reputation against the Royal Navy. But if you need him, I’ll go get him.”

            “No, I just saw them. They’re winning, by the way.”

            O’Neill smiled at the news, though he still looked odd with the beard. “Good to hear, sir.”

            “Has anyone else seen the doctors yet?”

            “Not yet. Dr. Smith requested examinations wait until she was available. She wants to see everyone’s wounds herself.”

            “And she got no arguments?”

            O’Neill shook his head. “No, sir.”

            Major Allen must have left instructions for everyone to give his crew wide latitude. And why not? Even without asking them to change the future, they’d been through hell. If Dr. Smith wanted to be included on medical consultations, she was entitled to that. They were _her_ patients, and Nathan was impressed she didn’t pawn them off to the care of spe­cial­ists who had more than a century of medical advancement over her.

            “Very well, Lieutenant. You’re relieved.”

            “Aye, sir.” O’Neill turned toward the quarters. He hesitated a few seconds. Nathan suspected he wanted to talk.

            “Something on your mind, Tim?”

            “You said we had a choice about having our memories wiped. What about the plastic surgery?” He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Would it be… um… _vain_ to keep the scars?”

            “Vain or not, you _earned_ every one of those stripes. No one has the right to take that away from you. I was planning to keep mine too, kind of giving a nod to navy traditions of the past.”

            “It had nothing to do with the Navy though.”

            “You were taken straight from the bridge while you were on duty. It doesn’t get more Navy than that. Never once did I see anything but exemplary behavior from any member of this crew under the grimmest possible circumstances. The Navy couldn’t ask for better represen­tatives.” Edward’s words about Earth missing the contributions of dynamic people echoed in his mind. Sure, _seaQuest_ was special, but what was equipment without good people at her helm?

            Tim nodded. He muttered under his breath, “I know it was grim, but I don’t want to forget it happened.”

            “Yeah, I know what you mean.” And Tim only knew the half of it. Every second that passed, Nathan found himself believing more of what Edward had told him. He was becoming downright incensed toward these aliens who’d stolen _his_ boat, _his_ people, and _his_ planet’s future, and then erased memories as if that would justify it all.

            “Is Darwin allowed to go out? Lucas and Tony said they’d go out with him, if necessary.”

            Nathan shook his head. “Not before I talk to someone from the Royal Navy. We don’t know what kind of hazards might be out there. The oceans in this time are nothing like we remember.”

            “But we _are_ going home, right?” Unspoken was concern over what had transpired in private, but Tim was careful not to pry.

            “Right. And if Darwin gets antsy while we’re getting medical attention, we’ll work something out. Thank you for reminding me.”

            “I think I’m going down to go talk to him. Darwin, I mean. I didn’t get the chance to thank him for coming after us.”

            “He heard _you_ , you know. That’s twice your Transmitting has helped us out of a tight spot. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this one.”

            “Do you have to? I mean, no one knows how dolphins get their ideas. You might want to say something to Piccolo though. I think he’s figured it out. Unless you tell him to keep it quiet… well, you know how he is.”

            Nathan chuckled. “I _thought_ I did, but he’s proving me wrong. Ask Forrester sometime for the story.”

            Tim nodded and resumed course for the stairs. Just before he was about to leave the captain’s line-of-sight, he popped back. “Captain, I forgot to tell you: Royal Navy invited us all to dine in their mess. Real food. Escorts will pick us up at seventeen thirty hours.”

            The captain didn’t hide his grin. “Best news I’ve heard all day.” He glanced at his diving watch, thankful to have it back. They’d found everyone’s confiscated personal effects in Beauregard’s basement before they buried everything. The watch hadn’t been as sorely missed as the nuclear arming key he wore around his neck, but only because the latter was so much more potentially lethal in the wrong hands. Now he had the key to a lock that was seven hundred years in the past. At least he was no longer worried the TGA would leave _seaQuest_ trapped back there. Whatever Major Allen’s motives, he was definitely opposed to _seaQuest_ not being in her own time.

            _And so am I_. _Then why am I so worried about believing what he’s telling me?_

 _Because he also mentioned danger,_ his mind argued back. _Rifles backfiring in the faces of the well-meaning._

_So why would he **mention** the danger? I’d be more likely to go along with this whole scheme if he hadn’t mentioned it._

_If he really knows me, he knows I’d lose respect for anyone who didn’t mention the risks._

_Just because we’ve met and become friends doesn’t mean he wouldn’t **use me** for his own purposes. _ Nathan had far too many old friends who’d taken advantage of him, most of them better friends than this time cop.

            _And just because you haven’t known him very long or can’t remember knowing him at all, doesn’t mean he isn’t trustworthy._

His head was starting to throb. He gazed out over the deck, wishing he could pull _skyQuest_ away from the dock and put to sea. His mind worked better when he had ocean all around him. He caught sight of a vehicle pulling up to the dock. The door opened to reveal Dr. Smith. Someone came around to help her, but she raised a halting hand and stood slowly on her own. Nathan bit back a yell of triumph. He headed toward the gangplank.

            Wendy accepted a set of crutches and made her way slowly to the boat with her escort hovering close enough to step in if she faltered. She stopped at the foot of the gangplank and looked up. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

            “Of course, Doctor. Do you need any help?” Maneuvering crutches on an incline was much more difficult than flat land.

            She chuckled. “Just clear the way and if I fall, throw a grappling hook or something.”

            Right, like he wasn’t going to rush down to her in person. She commenced her ascent, taking each step slowly and deliberately. He stood aside so her path was clear, as she’d requested. When she made it to the top, a dozen people on the boat cheered and clapped, whooping it up like it was her birthday. She took a stage bow, smiling her appreciation.

            “Don’t tell me they already did surgery?” Nathan asked.

            “No. Just a non-invasive bone-strengthener therapy and some pain meds. They say with another treatment tomorrow and maybe a third the day after, and I could be back to normal. As far as my feet go, anyway.”

            “Glad to hear it, Doctor. When you’ve got a moment, I need to talk to you.”

            “How about now?”

            “You sure you don’t want to rest? The Royal Navy is serving chow in an hour.”

            “I can rest and talk at the same time. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

            The audience that had formed to cheer the doctor’s steps dispersed quietly. “How about the bridge?” It afforded more privacy than the open deck and wouldn’t require her to navigate nearly as many stairs as the crew quarters.

            She looked left and right, a lost look in her eyes. “Which way? I haven’t been there yet.”

            “Follow me.” If the passages had been wider, he would have walked beside her, but that simply wasn’t feasible. Nathan walked slowly so she wouldn’t lose sight of him. He had to admit, she was doing pretty well for someone whose feet had been pounded to pulp.

            The bridge was a lot less cluttered since the TGA people had removed all the electronic gadgets they’d dragged from If. Lucas was probably disappointed to have lost some potential toys, but at least there was no more pressure on him to get them all home. Nathan found an empty crate for Wendy to sit on and took her crutches once she didn’t need them. He shut the door and leaned on a console that wasn’t big enough to sit on.

            “What’s on your mind, Doctor?”

            “Far too much, actually. I’ve asked them if they can erase all the information I pulled from unwilling minds.”

            “Wendy, I don’t think anyone doubted you’d been drugged and couldn’t help it.”

            She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I still know things that people didn’t want me to know and if I’m going to be your new Chief Psychologist, then I’m not going to start out with patients who are embarrassed or resentful.”

            “Chief Psychologist?”

            “I’m stepping down as chief medical officer. You need to get Dr. West­phalen back.”

            Nathan cringed. “I see what you mean about your patients being embarrassed. But I’d never let my feelings for Kristin push you off _seaQuest_.”

            “I know that. That’s why I’m resigning. I’ll stay on as a staff physician and her assistant, if she wants me.”

            “You don’t have to do this.”

            “Is there any doubt the eleven of us _need_ psychiatric treatment after what we’ve been through?”

            “No, but you don’t have to give up chief medical officer to do counseling.”

            “My area of expertise is psychology and parapsychology. I want to _concentrate_ on those fields and practice medicine on the side.”

            “I don’t think the UEO will authorize a full-time psychologist.”

            “They have to. You and your officers need it.”

            “Be that as it may, I have to fight tooth and nail for every expenditure.”

            “Dr. Westphalen is skilled in marine veterinary medicine, right?”

            “She’s not a full-blown vet, but she does have considerable veterinary knowledge, yes.”

            “And she’s already proven she can be the CMO and the head of science without any trouble, right?”

            He nodded.

            “So you’re already getting three for the price of one.”

            Nathan shifted uneasily. “They cut her research budget in half and she wanted to be with her daughter. Wanting her back isn’t enough.”

            “If I can solve the budget problem, will you try? I know you can be persuasive when you want to be.”

            He smirked. “You’re the second person to mention that today.”

            She didn’t look surprised. “It’s true.”

            “How are you going to solve my budget problems?”

            “By paying my own salary.”

            Nathan felt his brows shoot up.

            “You’ve agreed you need a psychologist and I think I can make the case that having a parapsychologist is no longer a ‘nice little bonus’, but a necessity.”

            The captain recounted all the times in the past six months Wendy had used her telepathic skills. She’d saved several world leaders from the Avatar, stopped Clay Marshall from setting off a syntium missile that could have started a war, helped foil a murder plot involving Admiral Overbeck, kept his crew alive during brutal tortures, and provided valuable insight on numerous occasions when he needed it.

            There was no doubt he depended on her psionic skills as much as her medical ones. “You get no argument from me. That still doesn’t explain where the money would come from.”

            “That makes five for the price of one, a steal even the UEO can’t deny.”

            He stared at her pointedly. There was no point continuing the discussion when she was dodging his question.

            Her eyes sparkled and she smiled. “Professor Obatu.”

            “The Atlantean expert? Have you heard something I haven’t?” Nathan had given the man his sextant and some navigational charts, but he figured it would take him several years to actually match holes in a helmet to find his way to Atlantis. Once he did, he would probably be a rich man, but he didn’t have any particular interest in psychology or parapsychology Nathan knew of.

            “No. He’s already given me what I need.”

            This was a surprise. Obatu kept the helmet because he needed it to find Atlantis and he’d given Jonathan the sword. “What did he give you?”

            “I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to give me one of the jewels from the place he took you and Miguel, in his mind.”

            “Psychogenesis?”

            “It appears that way. But it’s a flawless sixteen-carat ruby. I had it appraised. I don’t need the UEO’s money anymore.”

            “You should hold onto that for retirement.”

            “Fine. Then I’m not resigning. I’m retiring.”

            “But after you have your memory wiped, will you still want to do this?”

            “I’m not just doing this for you, if that’s what you’re asking. You and Lucas miss Dr. Westphalen personally, as do several of the crew, but even if your powers of persuasion fail and you can’t get her, I’m still stepping down from CMO to pursue parapsychology. If you allow me to stay on _seaQuest_ , you’ll get a staff doctor and chief psychologist in the deal.”

            Nathan tried to banish the thought that Wendy was one of the ones who would disappear on Hyberion if Edward was telling the truth and if the history was immutable. “Are you sure this is what you want? Surely Chatton has better facilities than we do.”

            “Chatton is fine for new telepaths to get a handle on senses they don’t know how to live with, but that’s not where I’d do the most good. _SeaQuest_ is the best fit for my skills and I’m not abandoning my friends. Quit worrying that I’m settling, Nathan, and accept this offer for _my_ sake.”

            He extended his hand. “Accepted.”

            She took his hand and shook it. “Thank you.”

            “No. Thank _you_ , Wendy. I’ve never had anyone want to stay on my boat so badly that she’d do two or three jobs without getting paid.”

            “I’d appreciate it if you kept our monetary arrangement a secret. People seem to think you get what you pay for.”

            He scoffed. “I’d never be able to afford anyone on my crew if I had to pay what they’re worth. But your point is noted. Your finances are no one else’s business.”

            “There’s something else I need to ask you.”

            “Shoot.”

            “The mnemo-neurologists say there are two ways to erase memories. The easiest is just to go back to a specified time and wipe everything from that point forward. That’s what they’re offering most of the crew. Under those circum­stances, I wouldn’t want to accept. As far as I know, no one else is going to accept it either. But for people who have some mind training—”

            “Like you.”

            “Yes, for people like me, they can separate the memories based on how they were perceived, such as anything I got from reading minds. I’ll probably lose the ability to speak French, but I guess that’s fair, since I never studied it. But I really don’t want to lose every memory that occurred when I was drugged.”

            While very few of those memories could possibly be pleasant, he knew what she meant. “So what are you going to do? Write yourself a journal?”

            “Partially. What I want to do is leave a memory package with _you_ so you can give it back to me after my mind is wiped.”

            “A _what_?”

            “A memory package. Everything we experienced together…” She took his hand and held it tight like she’d done when he was strapped to that whipping wall. “…is a shared memory. You’d have to enter my mind to help me sort out what you’d rather I didn’t remember and then wrap what’s left into a packet that I can leave in _your_ mind so I can easily retrieve it later.”

            “Wouldn’t it just be easier to keep all your memories?”

            “Yes, but not everyone is as open with their thoughts and feelings as you are. I violated my friends, Nathan. This is the only way I can fix it. I’m not going to ask everyone to do this, just you, Tim, and Lucas. I’m doing this for myself, but I’m also doing it so we have common ground when it comes to counseling. I will remember the solitary confinement and the bastinado no matter what, but I need to remember what part I played during all those whippings or you might as well just get some Navy shrink to do a few group sessions and leave it at that.”

            “You can’t possibly be recommend—”

            “No, I’m being sarcastic. I am the best psychologist to treat all of us because I was there. But how will you feel about discussing your beatings if I can’t remember it?”

            “I’d assume you chose the mindwipe because you didn’t want to remember, so I wouldn’t bring it up.”

            “Exactly. But that’s not true. I want to remember how terrified I was for Lucas and how he still managed to crack jokes when he hurt so badly he couldn’t whimper. I want to remember how you purposely riled up a madman who held your life in his hands just to try to keep Lucas from having to listen to your screams. I want to remember how Tim was more worried about keeping me from feeling his pain than he was about bleeding to death.”

            “I’ll do it, Wendy, but it needs to wait until tomorrow.”

            She quirked her brow and tilted her head.

            “There are some things in my head right now I can’t share yet.”

            “I have control now. I could stay away from anything you want to keep private.”

            He sighed. “I’m not so sure I _want_ to keep this private, but it still needs to wait. And that brings us to why I wanted to see you. Tell me, what do you get from Major Allen?”

            “Get?”

            “Yes. You said you planned to ‘keep all your senses open’. What do you sense from him? Truthful, hiding something, ulterior motives, anything.”

            “Well, he was very obsessed with Beauregard at first.”

            He smirked. “I think I got that much on my own.”

            “He’s sincere in wanting to help us get back to our own time.”

            _But why?_ He tried not to think it too hard lest Wendy pick up his thoughts. He couldn’t tell her without explaining and he couldn’t explain until he’d decided he was going to try to prevent hers and Miguel’s deaths. “I’m certain of that too. I just wonder if he has other reasons than what he’s told us.”

            “Does it matter as long as we all get home?”

            “It might.”

            She gave him a curious look.

            “Sorry I’m being so cryptic. If he gave permission, would you be willing to scan him?”

            “With permission? Sure. Can you at least tell me what I’m looking for?”

            “Deception.”

            “All right. I haven’t felt anything like that from him yet, but I didn’t scan. You really think he’ll give permission?”

            “If I am reading him correctly, he’ll _want_ to because he knows it’ll help me believe the fish story he’s fed me.”

            “Your own instincts are usually correct.”

            “I know. I don’t ask this too often, do I?”

            “No. But I assume this is very important and you’re also feeling ‘off’ because you’ve been physically and mentally tortured so recently.”

            “Are you reading _me_?” He kept anger out of his voice. He was so tense he could hardly blame her for catching stray bits of his distress.

            “No, Captain. I just know you well.”

            He patted her hand. “Yes, you do. I’ll let you know when Major Allen consents.”

            “Are you going to ask him at dinner?”

            “If he’s there, yes.”

            “Then we’d better get going.”

            He looked down at his watch and his mouth dropped open. “Where did the time go?”


	40. Chapter 40

            Although the building they were shuttled to appeared to be a common mess hall, both the food and the company were far from common. Of course, any food that hadn’t been freeze-dried in 2014 or procured in a medieval marketplace was bound to look like a feast to the _seaQuest_ crew. They arrived frightfully under­dressed in their blue coveralls while every high-ranking officer in the Royal Navy who wasn’t at sea showed up in pristine dress uniforms. Nathan recognized Hamilton near the back of the room. The captain nodded politely as he dodged at least twenty others who outranked the antique submarine’s commander.

            Hamilton’s eyes grew wide as he realized Nathan reserved his first hand­shake for _him_.

            Nathan paid a warm smile as he offered his hand. “Thank you for not boarding us, Commander.”

            “I wouldn’t be showing my face now if I had,” Hamilton replied.

            “Nonsense. You had every right to. I could easily have done the same if our places were reversed.”

            Hamilton chuckled. “You mean you would board _Triumph_ , or you’d tell your superiors she was no threat and handle the matter discreetly?”

            “Both. I’d board a one-man dinghy if I didn’t like where she appeared or how her occupant responded to my queries. But I’d also like to think I could be reasonable with a fellow submariner who was cooperative.”

            “So where is _seaQuest_? Or aren’t you allowed to say?”

            The captain laughed. “She’s stuck in the Black Sea somewhere around 1504.”

            Hamilton snuck a covert look right and left. “They’re going to let you have her back, aren’t they?”

            “Looks like it. As soon as we’re all whole and hale again.”

            Hamilton’s smile faded into concern. “Did you have casualties?”

            “Only our peace of mind.”

            He nodded sympathetically. “Your crew must be extremely resilient to have survived. Beauregard has killed forty-seven people we know of. Probably many more.”

            “Yes, they’re resilient, but if I didn’t have a brilliant engineer who built that trimaran in record time to come rescue us, I don’t doubt we would have lost people eventually.”

            “Your engineer built that in 1504?”

            “From spare parts, spit, and baling wire.” Nathan grinned as he looked around to see if Kendall was anywhere close so he could introduce him.

            “I don’t suppose he’d like to stay here and join the Royal Navy?”

            Nathan pasted the same _oh-don’t-you-wish_ look on his face he gave all the other jealous captains back home. “I don’t suppose your time cops would allow it.”

            Hamilton sighed. “I don’t suppose so.”

            The captain finally caught Kendall’s eye and beckoned with two curled fingers. He looked back up at Hamilton. “Do feel free to attempt to woo him though. I can’t get him to accept a promotion, so maybe a little old-fashioned flattery will do him good.”

            The commander chuckled as the engineer made his way through the crowd.

            Nathan gestured with his open hand as he made the introduction. “Commander Miles Hamilton please meet Master Chief Charles Kendall.”

            Kendall saluted sharply and Nathan didn’t mention it wasn’t necessary. The first words out of Kendall’s mouth were also thanks for sparing _skyQuest_ from boarding.

            An admiral nudged his way through and introduced himself to Nathan. Since Hamilton was already engaged with Kendall, Nathan excused himself and gave his attention to the admiral. He found it very odd being a celebrity on a foreign naval base, so far in the future that he should have been long dead and forgotten.

            Thankfully, someone had the sense to cut the schmoozing short and serve the food. The captain suspected it was Major Allen’s doing. He’d seen his bald head in the crowd, but never quite been able to get close to him. Between all the high-ranking officers who wanted to shake his hand and the excellent food he wasn’t about to pass up, it was well into dessert before he managed to catch Edward’s attention and indicate he needed to speak to him.

            Having Wendy perform a scan would give her the same troubling information he was reluctant to tell her personally, but no amount of reflection or deliberation was going to change Nathan’s mind now. He needed two last parts to the puzzle: some kind of reassurance Edward wasn’t lying (which Wendy was best qualified to determine) and once truth was established, an impartial military strategist who could confirm his emotional reaction to that truth wasn’t driving his decisions. Of course, it was no coincidence the perfect candidate for the latter was his executive officer. If Jonathan Ford couldn’t be cool-headed and objective about this, then no one could.

            He’d noticed Ford had been just as popular during dinner as he was. Had the food not been so tempting, Nathan might have snuck out sooner and let Jonathan take over. His XO never played kiss-up to anyone, but he was so diplomatic and professional it didn’t matter. There was no doubt Ford was destined for a distinguished career.

            _No, he’ll be dead by 2042 unless you change the future_ , Nathan’s mind taunted.

            Another part of his mind retorted that Ford must have done well in those few years else all these admirals and commodores wouldn’t be lining up to shake his hand. However, the argument fell flat. It only made it more tragic to have a bright beacon snuffed out so prematurely.

            Edward finally arrived beside his chair and leaned in for a whisper. “Some­thing I can do for you, Captain?”

            Nathan matched his whisper. “Yes. Can you get me out of here?”

            Edward chuckled. “You never did like hobnobbing with the brass.” He led Nathan to a quiet corner where they wouldn’t be overheard.

            Nathan continued to whisper anyway. “I can’t figure out why I’m famous if _seaQuest_ abandoned the planet in her time of need.”

            “I don’t think anyone ever believed _you_ flew a submarine into space and later landed her in a cornfield. History suggests when you returned, you were forced into retirement by the same incompetent fools who lifted the ban on colonial deregulation. The only reason I know any different is because you told me so.”

            “So I’m a fraud?”

            “Not at all. You’re a legend for designing _seaQuest_ and for sacrificing the first incarnation of her in Lawrence Wolenczak’s hydro-electric fiasco, among other dazzling accomplishments before you disappeared. No one blames you for the UEO’s fatal mistakes as much as you yourself do.”

            Nathan shook his head and sighed deeply. “I have a favor to ask you.”

            “Name it.”

            “Would you allow Dr. Smith to perform a telepathic scan? I need more than my gut feelings if we’re going to attempt to change history.”

            “No problem. Do you want to do it now or in the morning?”

            “If Wendy is willing, I’d rather she does it now. I’ll sleep better with it out of the way.”

            “Go pull her away from the party and meet me out front. Oh, and there’s one more thing.” Edward shoved his hand into his pocket. There was a tinkling rattle, like keys or coins. He drew out a fist, lifted Nathan’s hand with his free hand, and unfurled his fingers to leave a pile of metal in Nathan’s palm. Edward wrapped his hand around the outside of Nathan’s to encourage him to close his fingers around the object before anyone could see what he’d given him. _Robert’s dog­tags_. Nathan quickly stuffed them in his pocket.

            Edward slipped out of the room without much trouble. Nathan took a while longer, because he had to dodge admirals and commodores who hadn’t yet shaken his hand. He whispered his intent to leave in Ford’s ear so no one would worry. Jonathan could handle the situation without him. He made his way to Dr. Smith and leaned in to whisper to her.

            “He’s given permission. Is now a good time?”

            She blinked back her surprise but nodded. Being an empath, she was uncomfortable with crowds. It was a strain to block out so many thoughts and emotions at once. She was just as anxious to leave as he was. He helped her stand and get her crutches ready, then apologized to her dinner companions for stealing her away. Thankfully, his historical reputation required everyone excuse any breach of manners.

            “He said to meet him out front,” Nathan said as they made a beeline for the exit. Wendy was going as fast as she could under the circumstances.

            Edward stood next to the open door of an electric car. He smiled at Wendy. “Thank you for agreeing to help us, Doctor.”

            She nodded back as she maneuvered into the car seat. Nathan took the crutches and stowed them in the trunk before rounding the car and seating him­self beside her. Edward took the driver’s seat and drove away. “Do you want to do this on _skyQuest_ or at the base infirmary?” he asked over his shoulder. “Both should be deserted right now.”

            Nathan turned to Wendy. This was her call.

            “The infirmary will be easier to explain if you need to make an excuse later,” she reasoned. Although it was improbable Major Allen would have dragged them from a banquet to treat a case of indigestion, a visit to an infirmary would still draw fewer suspicions than had they all gone to the boat. Nathan nodded to her reasoning, glad she’d picked up on the covert nature of their escape.

            They arrived at the infirmary in less than ten minutes. Edward let his passengers off in front of the building so Wendy wouldn’t have to walk any farther than necessary. He parked relatively close, in some kind of V.I.P. space. The two _seaQuest_ personnel waited outside the door, not sure their uniforms would be enough to get them past the night security.

            Edward got them into the building easily enough, but he had a little trouble getting a treatment room.

            “I can’t let you in there without a doctor,” the desk nurse said.

            “I _am_ a doctor,” Wendy asserted. “Call Dr. Davidson and ask if Dr. Wendy Smith from _seaQuest_ is allowed to use a treatment room for fifteen minutes. That’s all we need.”

            Evidently, she’d chosen a well-respected name which, combined with Major Allen’s top security badge, landed them the room without interrupting a tired doctor’s evening. When they entered the room, Nathan noticed Edward was carrying a small case. He set it down on the examination table and opened it. A hypospray device and several vials of drugs stared up at them. Nathan felt a chill course his spine. Wendy shuddered visibly.

            Edward saw their reactions and shook his head. His voice was apologetic. “No, no, my friends. I brought these for her to use _on me_. It’s sodium pentothal and Psysine.”

            “I thought you consented to a telepathic scan?” Wendy gave Nathan a searing eyeful for the presumed deception.

            “I did,” Edward assured. “But I don’t know how much experience you have with breaking down psycho-genetic blocks.”

            “Psycho-genetic blocks?” Wendy asked.

            “When telepaths became more powerful and numerous, scientists had to come up with a way for people to guard their minds. Anyone who has top secret security clearance has an implant that helps them block telepaths from getting in. With these drugs and my willing compliance, you should be able to get around my implant.”

            “I have no idea what the correct dosage should be for Psysine,” she admitted.

            Edward pulled out a card from the case and handed it to her. “I weigh 87 kilograms.”

            Nathan was a little disturbed Edward owned such a kit, but if he routinely had to deal with men like Beauregard, it wasn’t too surprising. Wendy read the card and loaded the hypospray from two separate vials.

            Nathan looked up at the major. “Edward, I didn’t realize I was asking you to submit to drugs as well as mind invasion.”

            Edward smiled and winked. “I expected it, Nathan. Just promise me you won’t leave me where I’ll completely undermine global security before it wears off.”

            “I’ll stay with you.”

            “We’ll _both_ stay with you,” Wendy amended. The men looked at her. “If I administer the drug, I’m responsible for your physical and mental health as long as that drug is on your system.” She held up the hypospray. “Are you ready?”

            He nodded but Nathan held up a hand. “Wendy, I have a confession before he starts. You’re going to learn something that’s especially distressing for you personally. I want to apologize for not breaking the news myself.”

            Edward intervened. “You asked her to scan me to verify my truthfulness, didn’t you?”

            “Yes.”

            “I think she’ll understand why you wouldn’t want to discuss this with her until you were absolutely positive.”

            “She knows me well enough to know I’m doing this much more for other people’s doubts than my own.”

            Wendy gave Nathan an understanding smile. “Captain, whatever it is, it’s fine. You’ve only known yourself for what, five hours?”

            It was actually less than that, but he got the point. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling some of his motivation had been cowardice. He nodded to let them proceed.

            Edward bared his forearm and Wendy pressed the hypospray device against his skin and pressed the trigger. The hissing sound gave Nathan chills, but he ignored it. Wendy directed Edward to sit on the examination table while she took the rolling stool and scooted close to him. The two joined hands and Wendy closed her eyes.

            “You sure are pretty. Smell good, too,” Edward said.

            _Sodium pentothal definitely working_ , Nathan thought.

            “You should have smelled me a couple of days ago,” Wendy said. She opened her eyes and shared a glance with Nathan.

            “Everything all right?” the captain whispered.

            Her brows furrowed and she shook her head. “It’s like a house of mirrors in his mind.”

            Edward spoke up with a bit of a slur in his voice. “Psysine hasn’ taken effe’t yet, Pretty Lady.”

            Since the sodium pentothal was already working, Nathan started the questions. “Edward, do you have any ulterior motives for what we discussed doing? Anything you’re not telling me?”

            “No, Nathan. I told you more than I should have. Couldn’t help it.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because it’s so hard to see how happy and idealistic you and your crew are now.”

            “We seem _happy_ to you right now?” Even with the lavish attention and great food at dinner, he’d still felt most of his people were apprehensive and reserved. He wasn’t anywhere near himself. Those who hadn’t been prisoners of the madman were still weary from the long, difficult journey.

            “Compared to when I met you all before, yes.”

            Wendy cut in. “You’ve met us all before?”

            Edward turned his face and then moved his head back, like he couldn’t get his eyes to focus. “No, not _all_ of you, of course.”

            Wendy gasped. She must have made the connection to his mind  allowing her to understand why Edward hadn’t met _her_.

            “I’m sorry, Wendy,” Nathan said.

            Her face was the picture of concentration and she didn’t seem to have heard him for a few long seconds. “You didn’t do anything,” she said.

            He sighed deeply. _I know._ _That’s the problem_. “Give her the whole story, Edward.”

            Edward and Wendy were both silent for several minutes, and since they’d presumably established mind-to-mind communication now, Nathan didn’t interrupt.

            At length, Wendy opened her eyes and released the major’s hand. She took a step toward Nathan and locked her gaze on him. “He’s been truthful with you, Captain. He really _does_ want to save the world—our time as well as his.”

            “Thank you. That couldn’t have been easy.”

            “So what do you plan to do with this information?”

            “I’ve got to talk to Jonathan first. This is too big for me to decide alone. If we agree, we’ll bring in Brody and O’Neill to plan the course of action.”

            “Is there anything I can do to help?”

            “You’ve done it.”

            “Do you want me to include this in my mindwipe?”

            “It’s up to you.”

            “Why did you let me waste so much time going on and on about my position for next tour?”

            He laid his hand on her shoulder. “How could I have done anything else? Look, you’re still allowed to change your mind. It’ll be a while before we leave here and then it will take time to prepare _seaQuest_ for the trip back home. I’m not leaving the Black Sea without her battle-ready.”

            “What can you do against a spaceship?”

            He shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell _not_ going to sit idly by while some intergalactic hoodlums steal _seaQuest_. We may not succeed, but they won’t get us without a fight.”

            “Then it sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

            “ _My_ mind, yes.”

            “What if Jonathan doesn’t agree with you?”

            “We stay here until one of us persuades the other and we’re unanimous.”

            “Here? I told the nurse I’d only need fifteen minutes.”

            Nathan chuckled. “I didn’t mean in this room. I wasn’t planning to tell him until tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to steal him away from the limelight.”

            “You _should_ ,” Wendy said. “He’d rather hear what is weighing so heavily on your mind than having all those strangers gushing over him for deeds he hasn’t even done yet. He’s worried about you.”

            Nathan didn’t contradict her but he knew she tended to over-emotionalize other people’s thoughts. No doubt Ford was keeping a watchful eye on him, but he probably wasn’t _worried_. “Are you suggesting I leave two lieutenants to handle a roomful of admirals and commodores?”

            “Lieutenant Brody died a hero’s death,” Edward blurted out. “He and Ensign Wolenczak are probably more famous than you or the commander.”

            Surely Edward would never have said something so undiplomatic without the drugs in his system. _Ensign_ Wolenczak. Nathan couldn’t staunch the rush of emotion brought by those two words in simple combination. Was he even capable of making this decision without his feelings for Lucas taking over?

            Wendy cleared her throat. “Isn’t that why you’re consulting Jonathan to begin with?”

            He fixed an accusing glare on her.

            “Sorry, Nathan,” she said softly, “but you’re practically screaming.”

            He exhaled a sigh of defeat. He’d dragged her away from dinner to have a stranger break the news she was due to disappear on an alien planet in the imminent future, so he had very little room to lecture her on empathic etiquette. “How much longer is he,” Nathan crooked a thumb at Edward, “going to need his tongue guarded?”

            “Another hour at least,” Wendy said in her clinical voice.

            “I’ll ask the nurse if she wants us to move and then I’ll go see how things are going at dinner. I may be back with Ford. Is that all right with you, Edward?”

            He nodded, displaying a goofy grin. “Car’s starter code is 3772. None of that crazy Yank driving. Keep to the left.”

            Nathan waved his thanks and slipped out. The desk nurse had her face hidden behind a computer monitor. He stood at the counter and waited for her to acknowledge him.

            “Where’s the doctor and the major?” she asked.

            “There was an unexpected reaction to the treatment. Dr. Smith is going to need to observe him for another hour. She asked me to see if there was another room you’d rather we use.”

            “No. Not a lot of patients tonight, just a lot of data entry.”

            “Thank you. I may be bringing back another patient, if I can find him.”

            She cocked a brow. “Wouldn’t he just come in himself?”

            “He doesn’t know how sick he’s going to be.”

            Her confusion turned to alarm.

            “Oh, nothing contagious,” he said quickly. But that, too, wasn’t quite accurate either. He planned on spreading this ‘disease’ among quite a few others before he was done. He let his last words stand and headed for the exit.

            He had no trouble with the electric car and it wasn’t hard to remember he wasn’t in North America with the steering wheel on the right side of the vehicle. But when he arrived back at the mess hall, he hesitated to go back inside. It was highly possible someone would recognize him and he’d get sucked back in there himself.

            Luckily, he caught sight of Lucas, Dagwood, O’Neill, and Ortiz walking back toward the boat. He took a few more steps in their direction, so he didn’t have to be as loud. “Lucas!” he called in a whisper.

            The four of them spun around. “Captain?” they chorused.

            He nodded, closing the distance between them so he could be seen more clearly. “Have they shown you your new quarters yet?” he asked the group.

            “Someone is supposed to be meeting us at _skyQuest_ ,” Ortiz said. “We’ve got to get our gear anyway.”

            Nathan nodded and turned to face Lucas. “I’m surprised _you_ ’re leaving so early. Major Allen says you’re quite the historical figure.”

            Lucas’s eyes widened. “Did he say why?”

            “No. Not allowed to say. Space-time continuum and all that.”

            His face scrunched up and he raised his voice to its full teen whine. “ _None_ of them will say why! They act like I won the Nobel Prize or something, but it’s some big secret. I don’t know what to say to them. It’s creepy.”

            Nathan laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “Why do you think I got out of there?” He encompassed Ortiz and O’Neill in his gaze. “How does Commander Ford like it in there? Does he look like he’s enjoying himself?”

            Lucas scoffed. “No. But he couldn’t get away like we did.”

            The captain smiled. “I need someone to go in and get him for me. Who is least likely to be ambushed himself?”

            “I’ll go, Captain,” O’Neill volunteered.

            “Just tell him I need him. Quietly. I don’t want to arouse any suspicion.”

            O’Neill nodded. “Understood, sir.” He jogged back toward the mess hall.

            Nathan cleared his throat and settled his eyes on Lucas. “I uh… don’t have to remind you we’re _guests_ on foreign soil, do I?” Thinly veiled was the admonition to stay out of trouble and not do anything stupid.

            The teen shook his head. “No, as a matter of fact, I was planning to turn in early. Are you going to be joining us soon?”

            “I’m staying in the cabin on _skyQuest_.”

            Lucas’s head jerked up. He met the older man’s eyes for a second, and then looked away.

            Nathan smiled. “You’re welcome to stay on the boat too. Cramped quarters and a tiny berth or a real bed with lots of space on dry land. Your choice.” He watched the teen from his peripheral, trying not to pressure him by seeming too interested.

            “I wasn’t cramped. It was… uh… cozy.”

            Ortiz lifted a brow and shot Lucas an incredulous look, but didn’t say anything.

            “I might not get another chance to sleep on a sailboat. I’ll stay.” He looked up, studying Nathan’s body language intently, but not meeting his gaze. “If that’s all right with you, Captain.”

            “In by 2130. Lights out by 2200. I’m holding myself to the same curfew. Can you handle that?”

            He expelled a deep sigh. “No problem.”

            “Mr. Ortiz, will you make sure no one is left alone on the boat until either I or the commander return?” He was mainly looking out for Lucas, but with Dagwood right there, it didn’t hurt to remind everyone to look out for each other.

            “You got it, Captain,” Ortiz said easily. He looked beyond Nathan’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

            Nathan turned around to find O’Neill and Ford jogging toward them. “Sorry to take you away from your admirers, Commander.”

            It was hard to see in the dark, but it looked like Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Please. Whatever they think I’m going to do, they won’t tell me and I’m not even sure it’s anything special besides just being aboard _seaQuest_. You’d think they hadn’t gone forward in submarine technology in 140 years.”

            The captain let his head roll sideways a little. “Possible. Why would a boat like _Triumph_ , who’s already old in _our_ time, still be in commission?”

            Ford paused. “War?” He said it jokingly, like the very idea was absurd, as if humans should have been past that already.

            Nathan stared straight at him, without speaking or moving his head. He could see in Jonathan’s eyes perception of his unspoken message. It was highly likely Lucas and Tim got it too, but he didn’t check their faces for a reaction. He summoned his captain’s voice. “The commander and I will be with Dr. Smith at the base infirmary. If I am not back on _skyQuest_ by 2130, send someone after us.”

            “Aye, sir,” O’Neill said.

            “Good evening, gentlemen.”

            Ortiz and O’Neill recognized a dismissal when they heard one. They both said quick goodnights and herded Lucas and Dagwood silently toward the docks.

            Nathan gestured at the car Edward had loaned him. He and his XO headed toward it. When he was positive they were well out of earshot of the younger men, he whispered to Ford, “Thanks again for giving your berth to Lucas. I think the prospect of being able to drill me later is all that kept him from peppering me with questions right here.”

            “He’s getting better at discerning when to keep his mouth shut, isn’t he?”

            Nathan chuckled. “He’s had a lot of good role models.”

            “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

            “Major Allen is. That’s why I pulled you out of the admiration society.”

            “About time,” he muttered under his breath.

            Nathan patted his shoulder blade gently, ever mindful of the wounds he knew were beneath his shirt. “You can say that again.”


	41. Chapter 41

            Nathan started his briefing when he parked the car. “Dr. Smith has already verified Major Allen is telling us the truth. Furthermore, the major is currently under the influence of sodium pentothal.”

            “Truth serum,” Ford mumbled distastefully.

            Nathan raised both hands. “ _His_ idea and _his_ drugs, Commander. He has some sort of an implant that defends against telepaths and _he_ brought us the means to neutralize his defenses. If you want to debate his truthfulness, I suggest you don’t try it until you find enough data to dispute a telepathic scan conducted by a trusted member of our own crew, an explanation for how Major Allen resisted truth serum, and some decent arguments to call into question the physical evidence I’m about to show you.”

            “So whatever wild story I’m about to hear, you’re saying you already believe it?”

            “Yes. And I’m asking you to assume, until you can _prove_ otherwise, that what you’re about to hear is true.”

            “If you already believe him, what do you need me for?”

            “Because I don’t know what to do with the information yet. I need you to decide what _you_ would do if you were captain, and I wasn’t here at all.”

            Ford arched a brow. “Are you planning on leaving us?”

            “No. But it appears I _did_ do just that, in another reality, in another time.” Nathan looked around to be sure they were alone in the parking lot and lowered his voice. “What I mean is, this information has come as an emotional blow to me, Jonathan.”

            “Captain, we’ve all been under enormous stress…”

            “Yes, but this goes way beyond that. You’ve got the most level head of any man I know. I will _not_ take any action unless you and I are unanimous.”

            The commander’s brows knit in concern. “And if I disagree with you?”

            “Then, by God, say so. You’ve disagreed with me before and I have always respected you for that. You’ve defied an admiral at great personal risk to your career. You’ve removed both me and my predecessor from command when the situation warranted it.”

            “Captain, you were—”

            “Not in my right mind. I know. And I may be in the same condition right now.”

            “You seem very sane to me, sir.”

            Nathan managed a wry laugh. “That’s only because you haven’t heard the fish story yet.”

            Ford frowned. “There is no UEO here. I can’t remove you from a command that doesn’t exist, nor can I take over _seaQuest_ when I have no idea how to get to her.”

            They arrived at the infirmary doors and walked through, hardly skipping a beat in their whispered conversation.

            “Jonathan, you are a perfect executive officer for me because I never have to guess where you stand. You give it to me straight and you’re not afraid to stand up for your convictions. Unless I start behaving in a way that endangers something larger you’re sworn to protect, I can count on you to set your disagreements aside and obey my orders.”

            “That _is_ my job, sir.”

            “In this case there aren’t going to _be_ any orders, at least not from me to you. Like you said, there is no UEO now. Even if there were, what we’re going to discuss is clearly beyond _their_ jurisdiction too.”

            Nathan rested his hand on the examination room’s doorknob. He drew close so he could lower his whisper to the softest possible level. “I’m not advocating you removing me from command. Right now, I’m just a sailboat skipper with a shuttle launch escort. It’s about what we…” he gestured back and forth between Jonathan’s chest and his own “… are going to do when we get _seaQuest_ back.”

            He paused to gather his thoughts and frame an appeal to Ford’s military mind. “There’s a reason ballistic submarines need _two_ keys to launch their missiles. There are certain decisions no one should have the right to make alone. This is one of those times.”

            Ford gave him a meaningful look and a single nod of his head. Nathan opened the door and swept his hand. “After you, Commander.”

            “Ah, Commander Ford.” Edward rushed to meet the younger man and pumped his hand enthusiastically. “I’m surprised the Royal Navy brass were willing to give you up.”

            Nathan smirked. “They _weren’t_ willing. I didn’t give them a choice.”

            Edward chuckled and winked at Nathan. “Smart man.” He turned back to Ford. “Please, have a seat. This will take a while.”

            The only place left to sit was the examination table. Nathan thought he detected hesitation in Ford, but it was unlikely anyone else noticed, unless Wendy was cheating. However, she was probably too occupied with the major’s unbridled brainwaves and her own troubling thoughts. He approached her and whispered, “How are you holding up?”

            She looked up, blinking like she’d been in deep thought, but she did crack a small smile. “I’m fine, Nathan.”

            He patted her hand once, just to show support, then he backed up to the wall and leaned against it.

            Edward drew a deep breath. “The date you hit Beauregard’s Mobius Hole is only one week before _seaQuest_ disappears from Planet Earth…”

            Ford listened intently to the entire story, which came out in something of a torrent, since Edward had no restraints on his tongue this time. He gave more details, like a longer list of crewmen who never came back besides just Wendy and Miguel. He admitted he never tried to memorize the entire list of 122 missing, but he dropped enough familiar names to lighten Jonathan’s dark brown skin a couple of shades as the blood left his face. Although the young African American tried to maintain a stoic countenance, Nathan recognized a blazing ember in his eyes that proved he was affected emotionally by this news, despite his lack of jaw-dropping and eyebrow-raising.

            It took considerably longer than Edward had taken to tell Wendy, but that was to be expected, since no one could talk as fast as they could think. It was hard to gauge how much longer he was taking compared to when he told Nathan alone that afternoon. Time had seemed to stop in its tracks when the bombshell first hit. If someone had told him it had taken three hours, he could have believed it. If so, it was going to take five hours this time, with all the extra information gushing forth under the influence of the lip-loosener drugs.

            Finally, his exhaustive narrative was winding down to the point Nathan could get a word in edgewise. “Edward, I need you to show him the vid file.”

            “Do you want to shoo away the pretty lady?” he asked bluntly.

            Jonathan actually chuckled at this, but he quickly covered his mouth. Nathan rolled his eyes so Wendy and Jonathan could both see and then he sidestepped so he was directly in front of Edward. “No, I don’t want to send Wendy away.”

            “You said you’d only want your XO to see this,” he argued, apparently unaware how rude it was to talk about her like she wasn’t sitting right there. Nathan could tell Wendy wasn’t bothered. She understood Edward didn’t have control over what he said, even for the sake of manners.

            “I said that from a timeline where this…” Nathan waved both his arms around, “…never happened. When we met in 2042, we both thought this meeting was unlikely. Beauregard changed that, and more importantly, he’s changed _us_. I have no secrets from Dr. Smith in _this_ reality. I have a much greater appreciation for her skills and her dedication to duty as a result of what I’ve seen her do the last six weeks. She will need to know about this in order to make a fair assessment of whether I’m still fit to command with this information niggling away at my already-fragile brain matter.” He tapped his left temple.

            Ford showed more surprise at Nathan’s little justification speech than he had at anything Edward had said yet. The captain suddenly felt very tired. He sighed and leaned back against the wall. “Just show them both, Edward.”

            Edward shrugged and didn’t pose any further argument. The wall had a medium-sized vid-link screen, presumably for viewing x-rays or showing patients educational videos about whatever malady they were treating. Edward found the receptacle where his wrist-PDA cord plugged in, punched numbers on the device, and started the playback.

            It was just as shocking to watch his decrepit shell recounting all his mistakes and scolding him for his choices the second time as it had been the first. Nathan had hoped he’d somehow blown it out of proportion in his mind after the viewing, but he hadn’t. His older ghost of a self had really said all those horrible, haunting things.

            “That is _not_ Captain Bridger,” Ford stated quietly when it ended.

            Wendy managed to speak, but her voice wavered, like she’d been bowled over too. “Edward remembers this meeting, Jonathan. It happened in 2042, in Edward’s past and our future. It’s real.”

            “He also gave me those dogtags I mentioned.” Nathan removed them from his pocket and set them down where everyone could easily read the name Robert Bridger.

            Edward quietly retracted the cord into his PDA. Nathan let the silence ring out for a good minute or two before he cleared his throat lightly. “And now you see why I’m so conflicted and doubting my own sanity. Wendy, what do you think? Is my judgment compromised by my emotions?”

            She sighed. “Your judgment has always been affected by your feelings, Captain, but that only means you’re human. You wouldn’t be the man you are, the leader you are, without your deep compassion and convictions. The minute you lose that, I’ll be afraid. You’re not insane and you’re not compromised in any way.”

            He nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.” He knew he’d sleep better tonight because of what she’d just said. It was too bad he had no better way to communicate how much he appreciated it.

            With that hurdle cleared, he turned to his executive officer. Ford had been staring at the screen, motionless and silent since Wendy’s confirmation of the recording’s authenticity. “So, Commander, what are your thoughts? Don’t hold back. The fate of the world rests in our hands now.”

            Ford blinked once. He looked back and forth between Edward and Wendy, then he fixed his gaze on Nathan. “Well, sir, assuming…” he started slowly, perhaps testing the waters, perhaps just choosing his words carefully, “this is all true, then I say we try to do whatever we can to keep _seaQuest_ away from those aliens.”

            “It might be dangerous, even fatal. It might be the _seaQuest_ herself that blows up in our faces. We might kill everyone aboard instead of just two-thirds of the crew.”

            Jonathan Ford actually shrugged. “There’s always that danger, Captain. I think it’s worth the risk.”

            Nathan must have let his jaw drop or his eyebrows shoot up because Ford folded his arms over his chest and his tone got defensive. “What? Did you think I’d just accept the demise of the UEO impassively if there’s the slightest chance I could do something to stop it? Or were you expecting me not to care about Miguel, Wendy, Lucas, and the rest of my friends?”

            “I never thought you wouldn’t care, Jonathan.”

            “No, but _you_ want to change history and you expected _me_ to talk you out of it! Maybe I’ve been on If Island too long, but my thinking is very _Dumas_ right now.”

            Everyone in the room frowned at his reference. Was he proposing they try to take new identities like the Count of Monte Cristo?

            “All for one and one for all,” he said with a whisper of a Ford-smile.

            Nathan let a large smile dawn on his own face, pure and genuine. He liberated it on Jonathan first and then turned to share it with Wendy and Edward as well. “All right, we agree we want to try to change history. Tomorrow’s task is going to be figuring out _how_ to do it.”

            “We should tell Tim and Lucas,” Jonathan said immediately.

            “Wait. Tim _and Lucas_ , not Jim?” Nathan made sure the question was curious, not accusatory.

            Ford tilted his head while he thought about it. “Heck, bring in Brody too. He’s the one who said he would have been storming the beach at Normandy. It’s about time we gave him a grand scale counter-invasion to plan.”

            “I might be able to help some with this,” Edward said. He looked like he was fighting an internal battle on just how much he should say.

            “The drugs are wearing off, Captain,” Wendy reported. That meant Edward would regain the ability to withhold information very soon.

            Nathan turned to his new friend. “In for a penny, in for a pound, Edward. Spill it.”

            “If the spaceship arrives and can’t find the _seaQuest_ , how long do you think she’d look for her?”

            The captain exchanged glances with his XO. “I guess that depends on how badly they need her and whether returning empty-handed is an option for them. I don’t suppose you travel hundreds of light years across the galaxy just to give up.”

            “No, but I’m not talking about you just ignoring Commander Keller’s distress call. I’m talking about being completely absent when they arrive. What if we kept you hidden _in time_?”

            “Hiding to protect ourselves is just as harmful to history as being hijacked. Earth needs the _seaQuest_ to be there.”

            “Not ten years, Nathan. How about six weeks? While we almost always put accidental time travelers right back when and where they left, there is a precedent for allowing you up to the total amount of time you’ve been away. That’s what? A little over six weeks, yes?”

            “We need time for medical attention and time to get _seaQuest_ ready.”

            “Take all the time you want. We can’t put you back before you left or give you more time than what’s actually elapsed, but the further away from the original date of abduction we force the aliens to wait, the more likely they will give up and leave, or we change the dynamics so much there’s no telling what could happen.”

            Edward fidgeted, an agitated look in his eyes. “Someone will probably have to come to Oxford and petition the TGA to allow this _without_ telling them anything I’ve told you. You’re not supposed to know about this, remember?”

            “What kind of reason would they accept?”

            Edward glanced at Wendy. “Psychological trauma, verified by your lovely chief medical officer, who I understand is also a qualified psychologist.”

            Nathan arched a curious brow and nodded for him to continue.

            “What’s the first thing people do when they get home? They call dear old Mum. You say you’ve been tortured and imprisoned for weeks and you lament how much you missed dear Mum, but she insists she talked to you just yesterday! If people haven’t even noticed you missing, how much harder is it going to be to get them to believe anything else about what you’ve been through?”

            “It wouldn’t be as bad as missing ten years of history ourselves,” Ford observed.

            “No,” Nathan said. “But a short-term disappearance like he’s suggesting might not only prevent the abduction, but scare the UEO enough to take some positive action now, while there’s still time.”

            Understanding dawned in Jonathan’s eyes. “They’ll see how vulnerable they are without _seaQuest_.”

            “I can make the psychological argument easily,” Wendy said. “As long as _you’re_ sure it won’t lead to them forcing us to have our memories wiped as a ‘better’ solution.”

            “Forced memory wipes are strictly against TGA policy,” Edward said.

            “Yeah, and so is telling us about the future,” Nathan reminded him.

            Edward pointed to himself. “That’s on me. Like I said, I’d be in huge trouble if my colleagues found out about this.”

            “You can delete that file now.” Nathan pointed to Edward’s PDA.

            “How about I give it to you instead?” The major unbuckled the wrist strap. “Just in case you ever doubt this really happened. This is all going to seem very surreal once you get back to familiar surroundings in your own time.” He held it out to Nathan.

            Nathan accepted, shaking his head. “We don’t have any vid-screen jacks compatible with this.”

            Edward chuckled. “I’m sure Mr. Wolenczak could figure it out.”

            “But then he’d want to know what was in here and I don’t think I want him to see me like that.”

            “Take it from a Temporal Agent, Nathan: time has a way of healing wounds. Fix the timeline first. Prove you’re not the man who abandoned him. Then you can show him what could have been.”

            “Thank you for everything, Edward. If this works, the whole world is going to owe you, almost as much as _I_ do.”

            Edward smiled. “You realize, if this works, we probably won’t meet. There won’t be a need for Temporal Agents to ever question any of your crew.”

            Nathan bounced the PDA lightly in his hand. “ _I’ll_ remember.” He extended his other hand and the two men shook, moving close for a brief shoulder-to-shoulder contact that suggested a hands-free hug.

            Edward drove the three _seaQuest_ crewmembers back to the docks. Wendy accepted guest quarters offered her on the base. A regular room would be easier for her to navigate with crutches and it gave Henderson a roommate, so she wouldn’t have to be the only female there. Jonathan elected to remain on _skyQuest_ , but since Tim and Miguel had waited for the captain’s return, they were able to carry Wendy’s duffel and act as her escort.

            Nathan had returned twenty minutes before his announced curfew. He would never have heard the end of it if he’d been late. Lucas didn’t dawdle when he bid his departing friends good night. Piccolo elected to stay aboard, ostensibly to look after Dagwood, who said their twenty-second century hosts looked at him funny. It didn’t appear any of them had ever seen a GELF. The big guy didn’t explain why, but he probably didn’t feel comfortable around their stares. Predictably, Kendall had also remained behind.

            The docks were quiet and the gentle ebb and flow of the water beneath the _skyQuest_ felt as comforting to Nathan as a rocking cradle. He and Lucas prepared for bed efficiently, even in extremely close quarters. When they were both secure in their tiny pull-out beds, Nathan whispered to the bunk above, “Everything okay, kiddo?”

            “Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “Thanks for letting me stay with you.”

            “You’re always welcome. Anything you need to talk about?”

            “Not tonight. I’m so tired, I’d fall asleep on you.”

            “Me too. We’ll talk later. Good night.”

            “Good night, Captain.”

            Considering all they’d been through, Lucas sure sounded content. He hadn’t even prodded for details about the big secret, not that Nathan had any intention of starting _that_ conversation at this hour. The lapping sound of the water against the hull and the gentle flutter of the UEO flag in the breeze lulled them instantly to sleep.

            Sometime well after midnight, a whimper stirred the captain just enough to hear the panicked cry of “Please don’t chop them off!”

            “Lucas, wake up! You’re dreaming!”

            “Where am I?” Lucas’s disoriented voice suggested he’d managed to quash some measure of the fear once the nightmare ended.

            Nathan made a concerted effort to remain calm and speak softly. “We’re on a sailboat docked in Devonport, England. 2165.”

            “Captain?”

            “I’m in the bunk below you. It was a nightmare. We’re safe. Can you go back to sleep?” Nathan thought he could probably stay awake to listen if Lucas needed to talk, but sleep was preferable for both of them if the kid could manage it.

            “I’m sorry I woke you.”

            “It’s all right. Can you get back to sleep?”

            “Yeah. I think so.”

            Nathan waited until he heard deep breathing. He whispered Lucas’s name, but there was no reply, so he rolled over and went back to sleep. Tomorrow was sure to be another long day.


	42. Chapter 42

            Lucas woke when he heard bed hinges squeaking. A glance at his diving watch revealed 0730. He probably could have gone back to sleep if he’d wanted to, but he’d had enough nightmares for one night. Thankfully, he’d only woken the captain once that he knew of and kept the rest of his dreams in his head, where they wouldn’t bother anyone else. It didn’t help matters that the last time he’d shared quarters with the captain, he’d purposely been obnoxious with loud music. He’d been in league with Ben Krieg because the supply officer was not happy with _his_ visiting roommates and wanted the captain to be just as unhappy so he would authorize an unconventional solution to the thermal chip problem forcing the double bunking.

            Now, however, Lucas didn’t want to be obnoxious. He didn’t want a cabin alone and he didn’t want to disturb Captain Bridger’s sleep. The older man could have asked Lucas to take one of the empty cabins or go stay on the base. Tim and Miguel would have let him bunk with them; he was sure of it. But while that would have been better than being alone, it didn’t fill the hole in his psyche that found unique solace when he was with the captain.

            Lucas didn’t even understand why he felt this way. There hadn’t been any spare time to talk, so it couldn’t have been anything the captain said. Sure, he was generous with his back pats, but not any more than usual. They weren’t even much closer in terms of physical space than they had been in prison, except now they weren’t separated by that infernal wall. Yet the absence of that wall made all the difference in the world.

            Lucas still thought of _seaQuest_ as home, but right now, he wasn’t in any hurry to get home. He really _was_ more comfortable in this pull-down bunk in a cabin barely bigger than one of Dagwood’s broom closets. Going home would mean going back to the old routine and Lucas wasn’t ready for that. He missed his computer most, but not enough to give up what he had here. Besides, he knew it couldn’t last.

            “Sorry I woke you,” the captain whispered as he stood and peered over the top bunk.

            Lucas offered a quick smile. “Turnabout is fair play. At least _you_ waited until it was light outside.”

            “You don’t have to get up yet.”

            “Thanks, but I want to.”

            The captain gave him an assessing look, not uncomfortable, just concerned. “Lot of nightmares?”

            He considered saying it was just that once, but he didn’t lie to Captain Bridger. “Yeah. I don’t get it.”

            “Why? I’m having my share too. You’re not alone.”

            That bit of news brought a wave of relief. “When we were in prison, I hardly had nightmares at all. I _wanted_ to sleep then, because the dreams were good.”

            The captain pulled a clean uniform out of a cubbyhole. “That’s because we were _living_ the nightmare then. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather have the nightmare go away when I wake up.”

            Lucas nodded as he pushed himself up on one elbow. “Yeah, me too.”

            “Watch your head,” the captain reminded him. “Other than the nightmares, did you sleep okay? How’s your back?”

            He smirked. “Probably about the same as yours. So, are you really not going to have plastic surgery?” Lucas watched for a reaction and then added. “Tim mentioned you might not.”

            Captain Bridger chuckled. “I’m too old to go under the knife for vanity, pal. I’m keeping my battle scars.”

            Lucas nodded thoughtfully. “I haven’t decided yet.”

            “Really? Is that for you or to lay a guilt trip on your parents?”

            “Hadn’t thought of that, but if the shoe fits…” He shook his head. “I was thinking more like getting sympathy from girls.”

            “Ah. _That_ makes more sense.” He dropped the subject just like that. No prodding him to preserve ‘youthful good looks’ or any other baloney lines. He really did respect him enough to decide this for himself. The captain dressed while Lucas was deep in thought, waiting for the room to be vacated so there’d be a little more floor space.

            “I could use your help today, if you feel up to it.”

            “Help?” Why did he have the sinking feeling he was going to be scraping barnacles off the keel? He’d been trying so hard not to be that whiney complaining _kid_ anymore. _Don’t freak out before he tells you what it is._

            “Commander Ford requested you personally. You up to saving the world?” Captain Bridger stood right in front of his bed, with those fatherly eyes sparkling and his hand on Lucas’s knee.

            Lucas had to struggle to keep his own smile from breaking his face. He’d been curious ever since Major Allen asked to talk to the captain alone, but he figured it was some military secret he’d either never be told, or he’d have to hack into the computer on _seaQuest_ to find out. Still, Mr. Straight-Laced Military? “Commander Ford wanted _me_?”

            The captain smiled and nodded. “Yes, you. We’ll fill you in at the briefing.”

            “Very cool. What time?” He could hardly contain his eagerness.

            The older man snickered softly. “Why, you got other engagements?”

            Lucas put his grin in check and took a breath. He didn’t want this to sound snide or insincere. “No, sir. I didn’t want to be late.”

            Grey brows curved upward in surprise, but he smiled warmly and patted Lucas’s knee through the blanket. “I need to find out who’s awake and what everyone is doing about chow first. Major Allen will be here at 0900. I’m hoping he can get us a meeting room so we don’t have to squeeze into the wet room.”

            “Are you trying to get all twenty-four of us together?”

            Captain Bridger laughed. “If it was twenty-four, the wet room would be out of the question. No, just you, me, and the officers.”

            _No Ortiz or Kendall?_ _No science guys?_

            As if reading his mind, the captain added, “Dr. Smith knows what’s going on, but she’s got too many medical and psych patients right now. I only brought her in to make sure Major Allen was telling the truth. She verified that last night.”

            Now the teen was even more curious about what the secret could be. His best guess was they needed him to work on a twenty-second century computer, probably an early CentSys model. But why they couldn’t ask Major Allen or one of their hosts was a bit puzzling. Those high mucky-mucks from dinner practically worshipped the ground the _seaQuest_ crew walked on. If Commander Ford needed technical expertise, surely the Royal Navy would lend them a computer geek who was much more familiar with their systems than Lucas could hope to become in a short time, even considering his previous experience with the 2245 version.

            “I’ll run to the guest quarters on base if you want,” the teen offered.

            Another smile, a wink, and a pat to his bicep. “Thanks, but we do have PALs, you know.”

            Why hadn’t he thought of that? Lucas chuckled. “Man, I’ve been in a medieval prison too long.”

            Bridger scoffed. “That’s for sure. I’m going to check on Darwin and then relieve Kendall. Come find me and I’ll let you know the plans.”

            “You got it.”

            The captain exited, shutting the hatch quietly as he left. Although it was awkward for Lucas to maneuver his body out of the bunk without hurting his back or hitting his head on the low ceiling, he managed to extricate himself. He dressed and straightened the linens on the mattress, then fastened the berth into the wall so there was a little room in the cabin again. He picked up his dirty clothes from the day before, folded them, and made a neat pile right next to Captain Bridger’s dirty-but-folded uniform. Lucas wasn’t quite the slob he used to be before he had to share quarters with Tony, but Tony wasn’t as much of a neat freak as the captain.

            The teen didn’t think his present roommate would scold him if he left dirty clothes on the floor, but that was exactly the point. What other adult would the captain allow to get away with that? Worse, what if he didn’t say anything, but picked up after him? Lucas was almost eighteen now. He’d made a few resolutions while he was rotting away in that madman’s house of horrors and now it was time to start doing some of the things he’d sworn he was going to do if he ever got out of there alive.

            Up on deck, he found Commander Ford and Chief Kendall chatting quietly. It didn’t appear anyone else was up. “Wow, you’re up early,” Commander Ford remarked in a whisper.

            Lucas shrugged. He matched the quiet voices of the other two men, even though he wasn’t sure why they were whispering. “I don’t have a computer in my quarters to keep me up all night.”

            “You want some coffee or tea?” Kendall asked. “Our hosts brought us a couple of thermal containers.”

            “Sure.” He found a cup and helped himself, then blew on the steaming liquid to cool it. “Captain Bridger said he was coming right up after he checked on Darwin.”

            They nodded in response. Lucas gazed out over the harbor and took in all the naval vessels coming and going. There was even a submarine slinking slowly out to sea, but he couldn’t begin to guess how old it was, or how big. It didn’t look bigger than _seaQuest_ , but like an iceberg, it wasn’t what was above the water that counted. There was no telling how much hid below the surface.

            He turned and completed his perusal with the naval base, where he saw two men in _seaQuest_ jumpsuits approaching the dock. The long, dark hair gave one of them away as Miguel. Glasses suggested the other one was Tim, but there was at least one other person who wore glasses. In another few steps, Lucas had their identities confirmed. Tim had finally shaved off his beard and looked very much like his old self again.

            “Hey,” Miguel called without coming up the gangplank. “They’ve got food for everybody. It’s weird breakfast fare, but it smells great.”

            “Is it another fancy buffet with everyone all dressed up?” Commander Ford called back.

            “No, sir. Not an admiral or commodore in sight either.”

            “Sounds good. We’ll be right down.” Ford looked at Kendall and Lucas. “You coming?”

            Kendall looked torn for about half a second. Then Captain Bridger stepped up on deck. “Go, Chief. I’ll watch over _skyQuest_. After you eat, get some sleep.”

            “Aye, sir,” Kendall said eagerly.

            “Too early for me to eat,” Lucas said, waving them off. If the captain ate freeze-dried, he might consider that, but right now, he would rather just take in the fresh air and the company.

            Commander Ford hesitated. “Should I bring you back something, Captain?”

            He shook his head. “No, I’m fine, Commander. Send Ortiz back when you’re done; I’ve got an assignment for him. See if you can find Brody. He has a PAL if you don’t see him at breakfast.”

            “Aye, Captain.” Ford turned to join Tim, Miguel, and Kendall.

            Lucas swept his hand toward the thermal beverage urns. “Chief Kendall said our hosts sent those. Coffee’s not bad.”

            “That I _will_ take,” the captain said. He hurried to fill his cup. “So, are you really not hungry, or just not wanting to deal with the crowds?”

            “A little of both, I guess. How was Darwin?”

            “He wants to go play. What else is new?”

            “Oh, gee, I don’t know… that tiny tank compared to a huge moon pool and aquatubes that take him all over _seaQuest_?” It had come out much more snarky than he’d intended and he cringed inwardly. “Not that it’s anyone’s fault,” he amended quickly.

            “Did you know he traveled all the way from the Aegean Sea to If in the portable tank, refusing to swim any longer than it took Piccolo to change his water once every twelve hours?”

            “Darwin _refused_ to play?”

            “Yes, _and_ hunt. He kept telling everyone his friends were hurt and he used his position as Acting Captain to _order_ the shuttle crew to travel around the clock.”

            Lucas chuckled. “A regular Captain Bligh.”

            “Hey, watch where you say that.” The captain indicated their surroundings with his eyes and head. “And Bligh was only a lieutenant when his crew mutinied.”

            He could tell the captain wasn’t being any more serious than he was. Man, it was fun just to sit here and banter. “So what? Darwin’s an ensign.”

            “Ooo. Touché to the teen genius. I’ll talk to Edward about getting him out to swim, okay?”

            Lucas nodded. He knew the captain cared about Darwin as much as he did. “So you and Major Allen are on first-name basis now?”

            “It looks like we met in another time. My future and his past. I didn’t want to believe him at first, but I do now.”

            “So what’s the big secret?”

            The captain chuckled. “It’s a long story and I don’t want to go through it twice. You’ll hear with O’Neill and Brody. Besides, it sounds better coming from the major.”

            “I doubt that.” He wasn’t argumentative, just stating a fact.

            The captain gave him one of those you-better-explain-that-remark looks.

            “If you believe him, that’s good enough for me. I’d trust _you_ before him.”

            Captain Bridger’s brows arched. “Well, this is a pretty big fish story and I won’t blame you if you don’t believe it. We can still use your help, even if you don’t buy it.”

            Lucas nodded. He didn’t think it was possible he wouldn’t believe the captain, especially with Dr. Smith’s stamp of approval, but there was no point arguing when he hadn’t even heard the secret yet. It was kind of nice to know the captain wouldn’t hold it against him if he was skeptical.

            The two stood in silence, sipping at coffee, watching ships, and breathing deeply of the salty air. It was one of those simple yet profoundly golden moments he wished he could capture and hold onto forever.

            “Hey, where is everybody?” Tony’s brash voice cut through the silence. The two quiet ones turned their heads slightly toward the sound, but Tony didn’t see them.

            The captain cleared his throat. “Good morning, Piccolo.”

            Lucas couldn’t remember ever seeing Tony look so surprised. It was comical because after a split-second, he tried to hide how he’d been so utterly bowled over, but was still stunned enough he came to attention and saluted. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t see you.”

            Captain Bridger hid a smile and returned the salute. Lucas was pretty sure everyone was off duty. Even Kendall, who took it upon himself to take the night watch, had been told he didn’t have to. Yet, other than Lucas and Dr. Smith, no one had any civilian clothes to change into, so it was hard to tell by looking.

            Lucas knew he could start a verbal joust by reminding Tony of this, but he didn’t want to ruin the peaceful morning any further. Besides, the captain appeared to be _enjoying_ this and studying his gratification was just as interesting as a quibble might be.

            “As you were,” the captain said smoothly. “We have fresh coffee and tea over there and somewhere on base they’re serving real food. Would you please make sure Dagwood finds something to eat, either here or on base?” It wasn’t quite the same voice as he usually used to deliver an order, but Lucas was pretty sure it wasn’t merely a suggestion either. More like… _a test_.

            “Aye, sir. I’ll take care of it.”

            He didn’t even exhibit a hint of his put-out tone. Was this the same Tony Piccolo he used to bunk with? He’d already changed quite a bit since he and his buddy Eddie got captured by some crazy Amazonian dictator and his minions. Lucas understood only too well now how an experience like that could have such a deep impact, but this was beyond anything Lucas had seen before the Mobius Hole.

            The captain let a hint of a smile through when he said, “Thank you,” but he turned away and quickly pressed his coffee cup to his mouth.

            Tony caught Lucas staring. “What? Did I miss a cowlick or somethin’?” He ran his hand over the top of his head where stubborn tufts of unruly hair often resulted from sleeping in odd positions.

            “Uh, no. Hair is good.” Lucas tried to pull the same hiding technique as the captain, but he burned his tongue and spilled coffee on deck.

            Tony snickered. “Hey, maybe you should leave that stuff for the adults, kid. Want me to get you some chocolate milk?”

            Lucas was relieved he’d so nimbly deflected attention from the fact he’d been staring that he didn’t try to think up a comeback. “Yeah, maybe you should.” The teen looked around for something he could use to clean up his spill. Kendall probably _would_ have him prying off barnacles if he saw coffee stains on his precious deck. The captain pointed him in the right direction without saying a word.

            Tony was gone by the time Lucas got the spill cleaned up. “Who _was_ that?” Lucas asked sarcastically.

            “Someone who’s benefited from having a good friend and some positive role models,” Captain Bridger said.

            “Well, don’t look at me. I think someone switched Tonys on us. Did we have his DNA checked when we got him back from the Amazonian Confederation?”

            The captain laughed.

            It wasn’t long before Tim and Miguel came back from breakfast. The captain asked Miguel to stand watch over _skyQuest_ , but made it clear he didn’t have to do anything special. Surely the sensor chief realized it was mostly to keep Kendall from insisting on doing it himself. “You can get anyone you want to relieve you, even a civilian. Just make sure we don’t have seagulls leaving any unwelcome presents.”

            Lucas couldn’t let that one slide. “Yeah, watch for poop on the poop deck.” His pun earned him groans and several laughs. Miguel stationed himself in a deck chair near the wheel, donned sunglasses, and rolled his sleeves up.

            The captain rolled his eyes. “You watch it. We don’t know how much ozone is left in this time. I don’t want to be hearing from Dr. Smith  you’ve fried yourself.”

            Miguel pulled a tube from his pocket, looking rather smug. “Already got it covered.” He started rubbing sunscreen over his bare arms.

            Tim cleared his throat and looked at the captain. “Commander Ford was talking to Lieutenant Brody when we left, sir. He said they were ready whenever you are.”

            The captain nodded and consulted his watch. 0835. “I can’t do anything until Major Allen gets here and he’s not due for another twenty-five minutes.”

            “If it’s all right with you, sir, Dr. Smith asked me to report for a physical. She promised to have me out in time for your meeting.”

            “That’s fine, Tim. Tell her it’s okay to take her time. We’ll wait if necessary.”

            Clearly, Tim had hoped the captain would give him an excuse to skip it. He didn’t voice the disappointment apparent in his eyes. He patted the PAL on his belt. “Let me know where to meet you.”

            “I will,” the captain promised.

            Tim jogged off toward the gangplank. Lucas wondered whether he was worried about the doctor’s wrath or whether he just wanted to get the whole thing over with. Lucas couldn’t understand why the doctor was pressing him if he’d already refused plastic surgery, but it probably meant Lucas would have to undergo a physical even if he decided likewise. _Drat_. At least he would be excused as long as the captain had him in meetings.

            Tony and Dagwood left for the mess hall while several of the crew who’d already eaten filtered back to _skyQuest_. They’d been grateful to accept guest quarters for sleeping, but it didn’t look like anyone wanted to hang out in barracks during the day. Lucas found this a bit funny, since there really wasn’t much to do on _skyQuest_ when she wasn’t sailing. It’s not like Kendall had put in shuffleboard courts or a swimming pool. Well, other than Darwin’s accommodations.

            Lucas turned down the invitation from the off-duty Royal Navy chaps to play cricket. It was probably only fair after beating them at basketball yesterday, but at least he had a good excuse not to personally participate in what was sure to be an epic defeat.

            Major Allen arrived fifteen minutes early. He and the captain chatted quietly for about five minutes and Lucas respected their privacy. He was already slated to hear the big secret and, evidently, he’d be helping save the world as well. What more could he want?

            Captain Bridger notified Ford, Brody, and O’Neill by PAL. They’d be meeting in the same conference room where they’d all met yesterday. Brody reported he and Ford would meet them there. Dr. Smith promised she would get Tim there by 0915. Major Allen took a moment to greet Lucas personally and ask how he slept.

            “Great, outside of the nightmares.”

            “Those will stop after the mindwipe.”

            “I’m keeping my memories, thanks. I _do_ have a choice, right?”

            The major’s eyes popped. “Oh, absolutely. I’m just surprised after what you said yesterday.”

            “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” He knew his quoted line sounded trite and lame, but it did fit the situation and he really didn’t want to get too personal with this guy.

            “How old are you again?”

            The captain said, “Seventeen,” at the same time as Lucas said, “Almost eighteen.” Lucas put a lot of effort into keeping his tone even. He couldn’t wait to be considered an adult, but was done apologizing for being young.

            “Wiser than your years,” Major Allen said.

            “You can say that again,” the captain added.

            “Watch it, you’ll be making my head big again,” Lucas said playfully.

            The older men laughed and gestured toward the gangplank. Lucas took the lead off the trimaran. Commander Ford and Lieutenant Brody were already waiting outside the conference room. Major Allen went in first and turned on the lights. Everyone sat except Major Allen who excused himself from the room.

            They knew they had to wait for Tim, so Ford and Brody started arguing about who had eaten the healthiest breakfast. From what Lucas could tell, they sounded pretty even, but of course they had to quibble over vitamins and minerals.

            Major Allen returned and leaned in to whisper to the captain. He smiled and said, “Thanks,” then he reached for his PAL and called Tony. “I just got the go-ahead for you to take Darwin out into the harbor. There’s a bio-genetic barricade that divides the harbor from the open sea. It’s rigged to stop mammals, so make sure you both stay clear of it. It won’t kill you, but it will send a good bit of voltage through you and alert the whole fleet someone’s breaking the perimeter. I might not have time to bail you out of the Royal Navy’s brig until tomorrow or the next day.”

            “Aye, aye, Captain,” Tony’s voice came back clearly. Then his voice went distorted and barely audible, like he’d holstered the PAL, but forgot to turn the transmitting button off. “Like I can control that crazy dolphin when he gets it in his head to go flittin’ off.”

            “What was that, Seaman?” Captain Bridger’s voice was serious, but he was grinning.

            A gasp and a nervous pause. “Um, sorry, sir. Dagwood’s playing with my buttons.”

            The captain turned his volume down and chuckled. “Yeah, I bet.”

            A week ago, Lucas might have been worried about Darwin, but he’d seen how Tony had bonded with the dolphin on their trip. Tony could joke all he wanted, but he wasn’t going to endanger his cetacean friend. Lucas did feel a little envious he wasn’t getting to swim with them. This big secret had better be good.

            Tim arrived, panting a little, but looking relieved his physical was over. In fact, if Lucas had to vote for a ‘most improved appearance’, it would have to go to Tim now that his scraggly beard was gone and the strained look of constant pain had finally faded. Maybe Dr. Smith had given him some kind of painkiller.

            Maybe _that_ was why the doctor had insisted Tim still see her. All of a sudden, Lucas was trying to scheme up a way he could get Dr. Smith to squeeze him in. He had to stop thinking about it and give his attention to the briefing. Didn’t the captain say it was about saving the world?

            The captain cleared his throat and all conversation stopped, including Brody’s hushed yet fervent argument for the superiority of blueberries over oranges. “What we are about to discuss does not leave this room. Commander Ford and I both witnessed Dr. Smith administering sodium pentothal and performing a deep scan on Major Allen. We are satisfied he is telling the truth, so we aren’t going to debate the veracity of his revelation. We’re here to decide what to do about it. Major Allen, if you would explain it one more time for our newcomers.”

            “If we put _seaQuest_ back the day you disappeared into the Mobius Hole and you are unable to change the original history, in one week, the _seaQuest_ will be stolen from Earth by aliens.”

            No one so much as breathed. Of all the guesses Lucas had made of the nature of this secret, none of them had come remotely close to this.

            After another deep breath, the major continued. “Your submarine is used to fight a civil war and then returned to a cornfield in 2032. Two-thirds of the crew are never seen again. The other third return to various points on Earth, unaged in those ten years, with no memory of what happened to them or their missing crew­mates. Your absence does irreparable damage to this planet and its oceans.”

            He looked at the captain and the commander. “It is our belief aliens had no right to interfere in our history and therefore our attempt to alter it is a _repair_ , the same as returning you from 1504. However, past experience in the Temporal Guardians has shown influencing history is dangerous and usually ineffective. No matter what we try, it is possible you will be unsuccessful.”

            The captain took over. “We’re going to try to thwart the abduction by returning six weeks after we left, since we’ve all experienced that much passage of time. However, the TGA may refuse to do this for us, because it’s not their usual policy. Dr. Smith is going to petition them on psychological grounds, but we need to have contingency plans in case the TGA refuses. There’s also a good chance no delay will be long enough to deter the aliens from carrying out their plans. The mothership levitates _seaQuest_ right out of a deep trench, so we need to develop plans on how to defend against that.”

            “How do we defend against a tractor beam?” Lucas blurted out. “That’s science fiction!”

            “That’s what we’re here to figure out,” Commander Ford said calmly.

            Lucas looked at Major Allen. “Do you know how this beam works? The physics? Theory? Anything?”

            The major shook his head. “No. We don’t have anything like it. As far as we know, none of our enemies has that technology either, thank God. They’ve been spending all their time developing biological weapons and ways to reshape continents by melting land masses.”

            “Wait. Biological weapons?” Lucas looked at the captain for permission to discuss the plague.

            “Yes, Mr. Wolenczak,” Major Allen guessed, “we know about the virus that’s due to decimate the planet. It isn’t natural.”

            “A few of the entries in the 2245 CentSys seemed to suggest something like that, but it was all very ambiguous.”

            “They probably were in fear for their lives for trying to leave even the slightest hint about the truth. The Chaodai are ruthless and inflexible. I’m surprised any insinuations survived. But that plague is _not_ your problem. You have plenty of other things to worry about.”

            “How about space technology?” Tim asked. “Do you have a rocket or a shuttle or anything that can challenge this alien mothership from orbit?”

            “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” the major said. “We don’t have anything like that, but even if we did, I couldn’t send it back with you. I’ve violated an oath just to give you this information. If _telling_ you can earn me a life sentence, can you imagine what _helping_ you would earn?”

            “Two life sentences?” Lucas quipped sardonically. He realized even before the captain glared at him it was a mistake. Why couldn’t he just keep his smart-aleck remarks to himself? “I’m sorry, Major. I’m just frustrated.”

            “Quite all right, young man. I’m willing to help you any way I can. I just don’t have much to offer.”

            “Okay, so our first defense is to be missing from the time they originally came and snatched us,” Ford said. “Let’s say they’re waiting. What else can we do?”

            “Do you have control _where_ on the planet you put us back?” the captain asked. “If they’re in a geosynchronous orbit, we might be able to avoid them by staying out of the Andaman Sea.”

            “We can’t avoid that area forever, Captain,” Lieutenant Brody said.

            “No, but once we’re back, if we can hide long enough, maybe we can get someone from our own space program to confront them. It’s about time all that research money paid off for something better than snails from Mars.”

            The captain had always been very annoyed about competing for funds with the space program, yet he was keeping his frustrations under control in order to work on this problem.

            “Hey, couldn’t you call Commander Keller?” Lucas asked. He was friendly with an alien species that had space flight technology. He’d left Earth with one of them. Maybe those aliens could help. Lucas could rig a message like he’d rigged to send to the owners of that ancient ship with the sandmen probes. If the captain just knew where to direct the beam…

            Captain Bridger shook his head. He looked profoundly sad. “As best we can figure, the aliens who abduct _seaQuest_ are from Hyberion. Professor LeConte’s planet. They use Scott to lure us in.”

            It killed Lucas to see the captain carry such a big burden. “But now you know better and they can’t fool you.”

            “True, but we didn’t go willingly the first time either. They use Scott to get us where they want us and then they just snatch us and run.”

            “This time we won’t go where they want us, Captain,” Commander Ford said.

            “That may only represent a slight inconvenience for them,” Brody remarked.

            “So how do we make it _more_ than inconvenient?”

            “How about if we hide under the polar icecaps?” Lucas asked. “Maybe it will be harder to lock onto our location or maybe they can’t levitate through solid ice.”

            The captain shrugged. “No way of knowing, but it’s not a bad idea. We can still call the UEO and ask for backup from there.”

            “So we’re going to hide behind some ice cubes and hope these aliens don’t have something capable of cutting a hole?” Brody grumped. “Come on. They have interstellar spaceships! I can’t imagine a laser knife will confound them.”

            “Do you have any better ideas?” Lucas spat, a little more heated than he should have.

            Brody sighed and shook his head.

            “Hey, fighting with each other won’t help us,” the captain said. “Let’s keep the ideas flowing. Even if it seems ridiculous, let’s hear it.”

            Tim took a deep breath. “How far are we willing to go to stop these aliens?”

            “Whatever it takes,” Commander Ford said.

            The junior lieutenant hesitated. “We have nuclear missiles, Commander. Do we dare use them on aliens that might retaliate against the whole planet?”

            The captain and commander exchanged dark looks. After a few seconds of silence, the captain spoke. “If it comes down to _seaQuest_ or the planet, we sacrifice _seaQuest_. But I’m not above using nukes as a threat or as a warning shot. They should know we mean business and we don’t want to go quietly. Can we aim our missiles at a target that distant?”

            “They already shoot straight up,” Ford said. “All we’d have to do is alter their trajectory from earth-bound to space-bound.”

            “Trajectory isn’t my concern. Fuel is. They have to have escape velocity or we atomize our own atmosphere.”

            “I think I could figure out the right fuel-to-payload mix,” Lucas offered. “But you’d have to supply me with classified missile data.”

            “You know the secretary-general’s launch codes, but not how much the rockets weigh?”

            Lucas snickered. “The secretary-general never emailed himself the shipping manifest. If you don’t want to get in trouble, I can always haul a cargo scale down to the missile room and weigh one myself.”

            The captain gave a derisive little snort. “Oh sure, like _that_ won’t be any problem.”

            There was a lull and Major Allen stood up. “I think I’d better leave you to your plans. The TGA is going to get suspicious if I spend too much time chatting with you. If anyone asks, please say you’ve been recounting your horrors with Beauregard.”

            Lucas didn’t like being asked to lie for this guy, but he had a feeling no one was going to ask the civilian teenager anyway. All he’d have to do is keep his mouth shut, which he often had difficulty with, but he was better at that than lying.

            “I think it’s time for a break anyway,” the captain said. “Give everyone time to mull this over. Let’s plan to meet again after supper. It’ll be just the five of us, so we’ll meet on the bridge of _skyQuest_. 1930 hours. Remember, no discussing this where there’s any chance you can be overheard.”

            Everyone nodded. Ford answered for the group: “Understood, Captain.”


	43. Chapter 43

            Wendy had spent all morning in the infirmary, watching Dr. Davidson as he worked. Together, they had coaxed Tim to accept reconstruction of the nerves and muscle tissue in his back. Once he learned it wouldn’t require any anesthesia or time in a hospital bed, and once they assured him they weren’t going to “erase the evidence” from his skin, just repair everything underneath it, he was much more receptive to the idea. Evidently, his biggest fear was people believing what he’d been through without some kind of physical proof.

            He wanted evidence for others, but also to remind _himself_ he had justification for his psychological state of mind. When Wendy handed him a card with the appointment time for his first counseling session that evening, he accepted it without argument. She was trying hard not to read him and Tim controlled his Transmitting well, but all his body language said he was greatly relieved at the prospect.

            “There’s a lounge near the guest quarters. I already made sure it was all right to use it. It’s quiet and comfortable.”

            “I’ll be there as long as Captain Bridger doesn’t need me then.”

            Wendy couldn’t imagine they’d still be in meetings at 1800 hours. That was why she’d made it so late. She was trying to keep things as low-key as possible. “If he does, then we’ll reschedule. I will make time for you if I have to make it at 0100.”

            He chuckled. “The captain probably won’t need me _that_ long.”

            Wendy bit back a retort. Tim didn’t know about the alien abduction of _seaQuest_ at that point. He probably thought he was going to a boring staff meeting where the captain would remind them all to get their written reports done before they took a controlled trip back in time to pick up their little lost submarine. It wasn’t her place to shatter his illusions.

            By the time he left for the big meeting, Tim’s muscles no longer had the major craters and lumps. Although the skin had hundreds of stiff white trails etched across its surface, the wounds looked as if they’d been inflicted six months ago, not three weeks ago. The pain disappeared when the tissues and nerves were healed and Tim was so pleased with the results he admitted his ear canals were still irritated and let Dr. Davidson work some of his high-tech magic on those too. He left the infirmary looking happier and healthier than he had in weeks. It was too bad he was walking directly into a hornet’s nest.

            Wendy called Watts, Mitchell, and Young and had them report at 0930, 1030, and 1130 respectively. Their whip wounds weren’t nearly as deep as Tim’s, but theirs were all fresher and still tender. By lunchtime, all three young men were out of pain and were only awaiting removal of the scars. They were scheduled to meet with a specialist tomorrow.

            Dr. Davidson performed another strengthening treatment on Wendy’s feet. She didn’t completely understand the theory behind the phase-inductive bone enhancers, but she couldn’t argue with results. While the pain didn’t disappear, it reduced enough Wendy no longer needed the crutches. It was no worse than walking a few hours in high heels.

            In the mess hall, she saw Nathan, Lucas, and the rest of the officers sitting together. It surprised her to find them no longer sequestered. She wasn’t sure whether this was a good sign or not. Dr. Davidson was called away on an emergency before his food tray was filled, so Wendy approached the captain’s table. They were so lost in thought no one noticed her standing there.

            “May I join you?” she asked.

            “Of course, Doctor,” Nathan said with a sweep of his hand toward the empty chair.

            “You don’t have your crutches anymore!” Tim observed.

            She smiled. “That Dr. Davidson is quite a wizard. I’m good as new.”

            The guys all congratulated her and the dark cloud that had been hovering over all of them lifted for a few seconds.

            “So who’s next? Assuming his emergency doesn’t take more than an hour, Dr. Davidson has an opening at 1330 hours.” She looked around at the table, settling her gaze on Nathan to submit to his veto power.

            “Everyone here is free until 1930,” he announced. “And if Dr. Smith doesn’t get volunteers, I can easily make it an order.” His voice carried the tiniest hint of threat.

            “Can I go next?” Lucas blurted out.

            Wendy was relieved she didn’t have to coax and cajole him. He couldn’t be ordered like the military personnel and it was nearly impossible to debate a genius. She smiled. “Sure, Lucas. 1330 for you. Who wants 1430?”

            Brody cleared his throat. “I’ll take it or else Ortiz will be pawning off boat-sitting on me.”

            “I’ll stand watch on _skyQuest_ if Miguel hasn’t found anyone else yet,” Tim offered. Wendy couldn’t tell if he’d volunteered as a favor to Miguel or to remove obstacles from the other procrastinators at the table. Tim made eye contact and Transmitted, _But I will get relief so I can make our **other** appointment_.

            She nodded to let him know she’d Received.

            “Put me down for 1530, Doctor,” Ford said.

            “You got it, Jonathan. I have one more opening with Dr. Davidson today. Nathan, shall I put you down for 1630?”

            “Give it to Ortiz. Is there anyone else who hasn’t had their checkup?”

            “Just you and Lonnie.” Wendy didn’t mention Lonnie didn’t need any medical attention. It was better to make it mandatory for everyone. Counseling, however, was another matter. Lonnie was probably going to need even more counseling than anyone else. She was carrying tremendous guilt for coming out of that awful place without so much as a scratch.

            “How about tomorrow then?”

            “I’ll check with Davidson and get back to you.”

            He nodded. Without reading his mind, Wendy knew he wasn’t procras­tinating; he was simply placing his own welfare behind the rest of the crew.

            No one was very talkative after that. They had obviously had a rough morning. Wendy felt sick at heart just with _knowing_. How much worse must it be having the burden to fight against such overwhelming odds? She knew they would all do their best. There was no one else in any other time or place she would trust more. Still, she wished she had found out about hers and Miguel’s demise solely by mind-reading instead of having also been exposed to that haunt­ing video so she could have it erased from her memory.

            One by one, the guys finished eating and left the table. They weren’t rude, just quiet and subdued. Finally, it was just Nathan, Lucas, and Wendy.

            “Lucas, would you excuse us a minute?” Nathan said.

            He blinked. “Uh, sure.”

            “If you want to wait, I’ll walk with you,” Wendy told the teen.

            “Okay,” he said as he grabbed his tray and stood.

            Nathan looked around, then ducked his head and lowered his voice. “Wendy, I knew it was going to be hard, but I didn’t expect them to argue so much. They’re attacking _each other_.”

            “Are they arguing about ideas or calling each other names?”

            “Ideas,” he conceded.

            “And you’re surprised? You’ve charged them with stopping an alien space­ship of tremendous size and unknown power from abducting _seaQuest_. If they fail, two-thirds of the crew die, the survivors lose ten years of their lives, the UEO collapses, and evil empires take over the planet. That’s a lot of pressure for anyone, but remember where we’ve been the last six weeks. It’s just frustration.”

            “Maybe I should give them more time to recover first.”

            She sighed and shook her head. “Then you shouldn’t have told them yet. It’s not like people can just forget a thing like that.”

            “I’m sorry I pulled you into this.”

            “Don’t be. How could I help you if you’d kept me in the dark?” She looked up, studying his face. He didn’t meet her gaze. “And don’t you dare try to say you don’t need my help.”

            “I wasn’t going to say that.”

            “You were thinking it.”

            “Are you reading me, Doctor?”

            “No, Captain, I wasn’t.” She crossed her arms and stared straight at him, unflinching.

            He covered his face with his hands. “I’m doing it too.” He let his hands travel over his face, up his forehead, and across the top of his head. Then he reached out to pull her hand from her rigid pose. “I’m sorry, Wendy. You’re right. I was trying to think I didn’t need your help, but I do. We all do. We need to be in tiptop mental condition and instead, we’re all like vulnerable children. What do you suggest?”

            She shrugged and sighed softly. “Unless everyone wants all their memories erased, I can’t guarantee any of us will _ever_ be the same. But we need to get out of the pressure cooker, somewhere off this base. We need a real break.”

            “We’re facing one of the biggest crises in the history of humanity and you think we should take a _vacation_?”

            “What better time? 1504 is already far behind us, and so is 2022; what’s another day or another week spent here in 2165? Didn’t Edward say we could stay as long as we needed?”

            It was his turn to stare now. “You’re right. This tour was set to end four and a half weeks ago. Everyone was ready for extended leave and instead they got one crisis after another. As our hosts would say, ‘that’s bloody brilliant’.”

            She chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

            He stood, smiling. “Lucas is waiting for you.”

            “He’s going to be fine, you know.”

            “Is he?”

            “Yes, he is. Just don’t swing the pendulum too far the other way. He’s almost an adult. He needs you as a mentor and a friend, not an overprotective father.”

            Nathan let out a derisive little snort. “Of all the things we can say about his father, I doubt ‘overprotective’ is among his faults. But I hear what you’re saying. Thanks.”

            “Any time.”

            They parted company and headed opposite directions.

            Lucas was standing under a tree, staring off in space. Wendy approached quietly, not wanting to disturb him. She waited until she was right next to him and whispered, “You ready?”

            He jumped a little. Her stealth hadn’t frightened him, just surprised him. He shook his head slightly as if snapping out of a daze. “Yeah, sorry.”

            They started walking together, Wendy leading because Lucas hadn’t been to the infirmary yet. “So what’s up with you making my job so easy? I thought I’d have to get Miguel to drag you in.”

            “Tim looked so much better and, well, look at _you_. If I could get something for the pain, that would be great, but I was also hoping I could talk to you about… _stuff_.”

            “That’s very mature of you, Lucas. I wanted to talk to you about some things too. I’m getting some of my memory wiped so I can forget anything I learned when I was forcing myself into people’s minds.”

            He stopped in his tracks. “You’ll forget _everything_?”

            She nudged him gently. “Not everything. I won’t forget any of the time when I wasn’t drugged, or my beating, and if you agree to let me remember some of the details from when I linked with you, and save it for me in a memory package, then I can access it after the wipe and get those memories back.”

            “I don’t want you to lose _any_ memories,” he insisted.

            “Really?” She lowered her voice a bit. “It doesn’t make you uncomfortable I know how deeply Sandra Kirby hurt you?”

            He shuddered but then he shook his head. “So she hurt me. It wasn’t any big secret. As I recall, you tried to tell me to take it slow and I was a jerk about it.”

            Yes, he had been, but that wasn’t her point. “You’ll have complete control over what goes in the package, Lucas. I won’t have any way to know something is missing. It will just be as if you kept me out when I tried to get in, like when you resisted Clay Marshall.”

            “I couldn’t stop him!”

            “You resisted him for a long time. But you see why people feel violated. Marshall forced himself into your mind using cybernetic enhancements and I got in through drugs.”

            “But it wasn’t your fault! And you used it to help me. I know you were doing something besides just trying to distract me when they were beating me. I _felt_ the change when they ripped you away.”

            “Yes, I was trying to help. I’m glad you don’t feel resentful, Lucas. You’re one of the few who don’t. So I take it you’ll let me get in your head to leave a memory package?”

            “Is it hard?”

            “Not at all. Think of it like opening a door. You let me in, but you are there to watch and you can decide what parts of your mind I can go to, even what I can see.”

            “What if it’s a mess in there?”

            She laughed. “It’s not. Your mind is a whole lot neater than yours and Tony’s quarters. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

            “Sure, you say that now. Then you go gossiping to all your Chatton friends how I’ve decorated in Early American Geekboy or Hacker Grunge or whatever.” He was obviously joking with her now.

            She smiled. “Oh yeah. And I’ll put up EEG printouts on the Internex on the ‘Better Minds and Psyches’ website. I’d have a great shot at getting you an ‘Extreme Brain Makeover’.”

            He gave her a look that suggested he wasn’t positive such a ridiculous web­site didn’t really exist. If it did, it probably wouldn’t be in his scope of interest, but that only made her farce more fun. She enjoyed the stunned look on his face.

            “I’m kidding, Lucas.”

            A nervous chuckle. “I knew that.”

            They arrived at the infirmary and proceeded through without stopping. She knocked before entering the examination room. Davidson was still gone. “Is there anything else you want to talk about before Dr. Davidson gets here?”

            “I’m having a lot of nightmares.”

            “I’m not surprised.”

            “But I’m screaming in the middle of the night and waking the captain.”

            “Are you afraid he’s going to get fed up and throw you out?”

            He wasn’t prepared for her bluntness. “I—uh—no… well… yes.”

            “Lucas, he’s worried he’s keeping you close out of selfishness and you’re just humoring him because you don’t want to hurt his feelings.” She wasn’t betraying any confidences to simply interpret the body language Nathan exhibited so openly. Everyone on _seaQuest_ probably already knew it on some level or another. Everyone but Lucas.

            “Selfishness? He thinks I’m _humoring_ him?”

            “Is that so hard to believe? That having you close makes him feel more secure or that he can’t imagine someone your age would care to hang around him except out of pity?”

            “He’s not the one screaming at 2 AM.”

            “If he was, would you pack up and leave him to deal with it alone?”

            “Only if he made me. I’d give him a good fight about it first.”

            She smiled. “I’m sure you would. Just accept he would do the same for you. He _is_ doing the same for you. When you’re ready to move out, he’ll let you go, but don’t think for a second he’s any more eager for that than you are.”

            He nodded while a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

            When it was quiet long enough she was pretty sure he didn’t have more pressing emotional issues, she spoke softly. “Go ahead and get your shirt off and I can start on the prelims.” She turned to give him a little privacy, but she kept talking. “You’ve had the longest to heal and yet you’re still in pain? How bad is it?”

            “It’s just when I put pressure on it or pull the muscles. Taking a jumpshot in basketball almost killed me.”

            She turned to find him lying face down on the exam table, shirtless. His back didn’t look any better than Tom Young’s had despite the fact Lucas was almost four weeks ahead on healing. She shook her head in sympathy. “Dr. Davidson will take care of all the pain today and the plastic specialist is coming tomorrow.”

            “I’m not sure I want plastic surgery.”

            Puzzled, she tried to keep her voice neutral. “Oh? Why not?”

            He hesitated and Wendy was tempted to cheat and read him. “Maybe I see it as a rite of passage. You know, because I took it like a man.”

            She forced herself to hold her retort. How hard did he constantly work to try to prove to his parents, especially his father, that he was worth their time and attention? After several seconds, she gave her measured answer. “But when you’re twenty-five, are you still going to care about this? You’d never be able to take your shirt off for a friendly game of volleyball without those scars glaring.”

            His brows furrowed. “What about the ‘oh, you poor thing’ angle with girls? Henderson seemed to think it would be attractive.”

            “I’m sure girls would feel sorry for you, but is that anything to base a relationship on? Any girl who cares about _you_ , would care about what happened whether or not you still had scars, wouldn’t she?”

            He didn’t answer.

            “But she wouldn’t know unless you told her and that means you’d have to talk about it. Is keeping the scars a way to keep from having to talk about it? To let your skin do your talking?”

            No answer again.

            “Look, it’s not my place to decide this for you. You might even have some success if you decided to have plastic surgery later on. The medicine in our time isn’t as advanced, but you’re young. I’m just going to say one more thing before I leave you to think about this.” She paused to let her words sink in. “If we succeed in preventing _seaQuest_ from being abducted by aliens, then I’m resigning as the chief medical officer.”

            He gasped and opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed two fingers over his lips. “I’m not leaving. I just want to concentrate on parapsychology and psychology. I will stay as an assistant to Dr. Westphalen, if she wants me.”

            “D-D-Dr. Westphalen?”

            “Don’t tell me you don’t want her back. I’ve been in your mind, Lucas. That’s one of the things you can pull from the memory package if you don’t want me to know, but right now, I’m not going to pretend. She’s important to you and she’s important to Nathan and the whole science section has suffered from her absence. I’ve already told the captain and he’s going to try to get her back, assuming we’re on Earth, of course.”

            “You’re not leaving?” His voice cracked like he was either crying or close to it.

            She squeezed his hand, thankful he cared enough about her even though she’d been the one to replace the woman he’d come to think of as a surrogate mother. “Not as long as I have a choice. I will be Chief Psychologist and a staff doctor on paper and I’ll have more time to devote to parapsychology. The reason I brought this up now is I want you to think about this scar thing in light of what Dr. Westphalen is going to say the first time she sees you with your shirt off. I know what kind of relationship the two of you have and I’m pretty sure you’d better have a darned good answer ready. If you can answer _her_ , then you’ve thought it through well enough to make the right decision _for you_.”

            He nodded silently and buried his face in the exam table. His torso heaved a few times and she laid her hand gently on his back. She leaned over and whispered, “Let it out. It’s okay.”

            Just when she thought he might really let go, the door opened and Dr. Davidson hurried in, panting. “Sorry. Got caught up with another patient.”

            Wendy spoke to give Lucas time to gather himself. “That’s all right, Doctor. Lucas and I were having a nice chat while we waited. This is Lucas Wolenczak, the youngest member of our crew. He was the first to be beaten out of all of us. You’d never believe how brave he was.”

            Lucas scoffed. “Brave, schmave. Like I had a choice.” The biting sarcasm told Wendy he had his emotions under control now.

            Davidson smiled and pulled out one of his gadgets. Wendy thought of it as something of a magic wand. The wizard-doctor had tried to explain how it worked, but it was so far beyond her understanding it may as well have been magic. All she knew was it reconstructed the muscles, blood vessels, and nerves below the skin and it did it almost as fast as he waved it over the damaged areas.

            “You know, maybe if you explained that magic wand of yours to Lucas, he could explain it to me.”

            “Are you interested in medicine, Lucas?” Dr. Davidson asked amiably.

            “Not really, but I love gadgets. So what do you call this thing?”

            The two of them entered a conversation which may as well have been in another language for all Wendy could make out. At least it was keeping Lucas entertained.

            “I’m done,” Davidson announced.

            “What? I didn’t feel a thing.”

            “How’s this?” Davidson reared his hand high above the table and slapped Lucas on the back. Wendy gasped.

            Lucas didn’t scream, move, or make a sound for a full two seconds. Wendy fixed a steely glare on Davidson while she gathered her thoughts to lambaste this guy’s head off.

            Then she heard Lucas laugh. “Man, that was great! Can you do it again?”

            Davidson chuckled and shot Wendy an apologetic look. “Wounds like that often itch like crazy, but there’s no way to scratch without causing pain. Once the pain is gone, a nice, stinging slap often hits the spot.”

            She shook her head. “You could have warned me, you know.”

            “And miss the look on your face? That was priceless.”

            She directed her gaze back to Lucas. “How is the pain now?”

            “It was just a regular old slap, like before. It really did feel good.”

            “Yes, so I’ve heard.” She cast a dark glance at Davidson. “If it didn’t, he’d be using that thing on himself because I’d be slapping _him_ , and it wouldn’t be for itch relief.”

            “Please tell me you got her on a security camera or something,” Lucas chuckled toward Davidson.

            “Sorry, kid. No cameras in here.”

            “Classic. That was so classic,” he mumbled as he sat up.

            “So, I have a 1400 opening with Dr. Birch tomorrow. Is that good for you?”

            Wendy drew a deep breath. “It’s just for consultation. You don’t have to decide yet. Just leave your options open.”

            Lucas nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure Captain Bridger will let me off for a doctor’s appointment.” He slipped his shirt back over his head.

            “If not, let us know. We’ll work something out,” Davidson said.

            “I need another appointment with you for that _procedure_ we discussed,” Wendy said. She didn’t want to mention mind-joining in front of Davidson. Lucas might consider it embarrassing.

            “Okay. You and the captain can duke it out over who gets me when.”

            She winked at him. “You’re just too popular.”


	44. Chapter 44

            Tim moved Miguel’s deck chair into the shade when he relieved the sensor chief on the _skyQuest_. He loved the feel of the breeze on his finally clean-shaven face, but his pale complexion did not do well in the sun, even with sunscreen. He didn’t mind the gentle rocking of the boat as long as it was moored, but it did make him homesick for the _seaQuest_.

            Piccolo appeared on deck, dressed in swim trunks, asking around for some­one to come down to the wet room to crank the diving hatch door so he and Darwin could go out. Tim instantly regretted having volunteered to be on watch, however informal the duty was. How great would it be to go diving now, without anymore back pain?

            He sat back, gazing out over the harbor. He tried to focus on the ships gliding over the surface or the seagulls cutting up and down as they hunted, but his mind kept replaying moments from the meeting that morning.

            It was a good thing he’d already resolved his religious issues over aliens, or it would have been a lot harder to swallow the story Major Allen threw at them. Even with Dr. Smith verifying the man wasn’t lying, it was still pretty far-fetched. And yet, it was precisely because it seemed so impossible that he believed it. Why would anyone from the twenty-second century make up a story like that if it wasn’t true? Attempting to change it was probably risking his very existence.

            Believing wasn’t the hardest part. He’d been ordered to assume the story was true, so his belief wasn’t necessary. The billion dollar question (or should that be in pounds sterling because they were on British soil?) was _could_ they change history, and if so, _how_? It seemed pretty obvious changing history was possible. The bridge crew had all been imprisoned and tortured. None of them were ever going to be the same after that. The science guys had pitched in like never before and even Tony Piccolo was shaping up into a responsible guy. If that didn’t take the cake, this time, they would know a distress call from Commander Keller was a trap.

            So it wasn’t a question of whether history _could_ be changed. It was how to push it in the right direction to avert consequences so horrendous they made François Beauregard look almost benevolent by comparison.

            Tim had been fervently praying the TGA would let them go back late. That seemed like their best chance at success—just don’t be there. But they couldn’t count on it. Precedence or not, surely no one was going to overlook the fact that the point in time they were asking to avoid coincided with the date _seaQuest_ went missing. They were asking Time Guardians to violate their policies against changing history. Not to belittle Dr. Smith’s persuasion skills, but it didn’t look very likely her plea would succeed. Even if they did go back late, it was possible the aliens would still be there, waiting for them.

            So while he was praying for the best, he was planning for the worst. Actually, it was more like worrying for the worst. Beyond firing nuclear ‘warning shots’, they had no plan. There simply _was_ no defense against being pulled out of the ocean and onto an alien spaceship. And as much as he trusted Captain Bridger and Commander Ford, it was beginning to look like they were in _way_ over their heads. The tension had been so thick you could feel it.

            Tim was less afraid of dying on _seaQuest_ than he had been of dying at the hands of that mad Frenchman. When they were all at their battle stations, working together, the fear was tempered with adrenalin. Responsibility and training took over and pushed the fear to the back of the mind. But sitting in a conference room, grasping at straws, and bickering with each other wasn’t accomplishing anything. He’d been relieved when the captain ended the meeting.

            For a split-second, he’d entertained the possibility of asking to be excused from any further meetings, but it felt too much like abandoning his friends. He might not be as brilliant as Lucas was, but sometimes he had a good idea or two. It had been _his_ idea to capture Set in a vacuum on Alpha Mining Base. The idea wasn’t executed the way he’d proposed, but he’d been right in principle.

            He was dreading the next meeting after supper. Oddly, though, he was looking forward to his counseling session with Dr. Smith. He was probably the only one who’d ever seen her for counseling before, but it meant he’d already gotten past that initial awkwardness. Of course, now he had a laundry list of new reasons to feel awkward, not the least of which was that he’d shared a bed with his psychologist.

            Chief Kendall emerged from his cabin and insisted on relieving Tim so he could catch an early dinner. Tim met Miguel coming out of the infirmary and they both headed to the mess hall together. “Hey, you didn’t say earlier how the big meeting went,” Miguel said.

            Yeah, like Miguel had stuck around five seconds longer than necessary when he had someone volunteering to relieve him. Tim smirked and shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

            “Don’t tell me they aren’t going to let us go home.”

            “No. They’re just dickering over when.” Tim was pretty sure he wasn’t betraying any secrets to say that much. He was only affirming what the major had already promised. He put on a smile for his friend’s sake. Miguel was obviously feeling fantastic after seeing Dr. Davidson and being treated with that magic wand.

            “Can’t talk about it, eh?”

            Tim shook his head. The sensor chief could always read him like an open book, but Miguel never pushed him to betray anything classified.

            “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

            The lieutenant wished he could match that confidence. He nodded, keeping his lips in a tight line. Miguel never seemed to be depressed, ever. Tim wondered how his friend would be acting right now if he had the same burden to worry about.

            After a few steps in silence, Miguel spoke. “I never got around to thanking you for what you did during that chopstick torture. Thanks.”

            Tim waved it off. “It was all just smoke and mirrors. No big deal.”

            Miguel cleared his throat. “You didn’t know that at the time.”

            A deep sigh and a shrug. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t let you know sooner I was okay.”

            “Okay? I saw your back, Tim. _That_ was no illusion. And none of us are ‘okay’. Well, except Lonnie.”

            “So what’s up with you two?”

            “Heck if I know. She’s hardly said a word to me since we got out of prison.”

            Tim nodded. He knew less about women than Miguel did, and he’d already bombed spectacularly with Lonnie, so he had no wisdom to impart.

            “What’s up with you and Wendy?”

            Tim blinked. “Nothing. She didn’t really want to pick me.” He avoided using the word ‘mate’ as it was all so embarrassing now. “I forced her choice because of that stupid stunt I pulled trying to get her a conference with the captain.”

            “That was a great idea. I think you were the only one who figured out how to manipulate El Loco.”

            Tim scoffed. “Yeah, right. Like it did any good.”

            “You got Dr. Smith someone to hold her hands when she most needed it. That was something.”

            “I guess.” It had seemed important at the time, but now it felt rather trivial. She still had to endure torture and she didn’t really confer with the captain much because she was in too much pain.

            They reached the mess hall and abruptly stopped their conversation. While Tim welcomed the opportunity to talk with anyone who’d been there, he didn’t really want outsiders to overhear. Evidently, Miguel felt the same. They both turned their attention to food. Lucas, Tony, and Dagwood joined them, Lucas and Tony both sporting wet hair. Jokes flowed between all five of them and instantly lifted Tim’s mood. He was sorry to have to leave in order to make his appointment with Dr. Smith, but he didn’t want to be late. He found the lounge in the guest quarters at the barracks and knocked on the open door.

            “Come on in, Tim,” Dr. Smith called from a chair across the room. “Please close the door after you.”

            He did as she asked, then turned to her and drew a deep breath. “Um, is this supposed to be formal or what?”

            “Everyone who was with us on that island is going to be required to attend counseling sessions for a while. If they don’t come voluntarily, Captain Bridger will make it mandatory. But you didn’t seem resistant to the idea, so what’s the problem?”

            “If I’m talking to a professional therapist, shouldn’t I call her ‘Doctor’ and be all clinical?”

            “ _Her_?” She forced a chuckle. “Tim, we shared too much to go back to ‘Doctor’ and ‘Lieutenant’, don’t you think?”

            He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and dry-swallowed. “Scuttlebutt has it you’re having your memories wiped.”

            She frowned and tilted her head. “How does that make you feel?”

            “I can understand why you’d want to forget.” He looked away, focusing on the floor.

            “There really isn’t much I want to forget, but I violated people’s minds and this is the only way I can give them back their privacy. In fact, one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you tonight was to ask you about preserving some of my memories for me.”

            “Preserving? How?” Tim took a seat and looked up at her again.

            “The mnemo-neurologist said he could isolate memories I gained from mind-reading. That’s the only memories they will wipe. However, there’s still a lot within that block of memory I’d like to keep. If you agree to another mind invasion, I can place our shared memories in a sort of memory package and store it in your mind. You’d have access to it and be able to remove anything from the package you didn’t want me to know.”

            Tim faked a cough. “Doctor, you couldn’t get through my walls, remember? I _invited_ you in. You didn’t invade my mind at all.”

            “Which is why I figured you wouldn’t mind doing this. Still, there were parts of our communication that were… coerced. Not because I forced myself into your mind, but because we were forced into putting on an act by the madman who was watching us.”

            He nodded. He wished he could forget some of that sexy stuff too. Probably for quite different reasons than she did though.

            She reached out and touched his hand. “Tim, whether or not I remember _that_ will be up to you. Same with French.”

            “You don’t like French?”

            “On the contrary. It came in very handy, but I didn’t have to study like you did.”

            He shrugged. “It was a fair trade. I swiped medical knowledge I didn’t study.”

            “I’m glad you knew how to access that knowledge or you might have bled to death.”

            Tim thought it was just the opposite. Knowing too much and using it too efficiently was what earned him the extra brutality. He found his gaze glued to her hand on top of his. He knew he had to say something, but it was just so awkward and hard.

            “Wendy, you’ve been in my mind,” he started nervously.

            She nodded. He couldn’t see past her nose because he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes, but she was smiling encouragingly.

            “Then you know how my imagination starts playing tricks on me. Can you just say it once, out loud, so I have some ammunition against that?”

            “Say what?”

            He sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “You know. Remind me out loud. I know it wasn’t real, but that stupid voice in my head keeps trying to fool me.”

            “You seemed so well-grounded at the time.”

            “Maybe because I was scared out of my wits.”

            “What would happen if I didn’t say anything?”

            He rolled his eyes. Did she _have_ to make it this hard? “Over time, my imagination would try to convince me there was something there besides just being scared for our lives, scared you’d be raped, scared I’d get my eardrums punctured. I’d start to think maybe you really might have feelings or something.” He could feel his cheeks burning now. It sounded even dumber after he’d given voice to it.

            “Tim, I picked you because I didn’t really have a choice, but I’m not sorry I did.”

            His jaw dropped about a foot and he was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat or two. Maybe his hearing really _was_ damaged. _Did she really just say that?_

            “I’m _not_ attracted to you. Was that what you needed to hear?”

            And just as quickly, his heartbeat returned. He tried to breathe normally. “Um…yeah. Thanks. I needed to hear it out loud so I can tell my stupid imagination to shut up.”

            “Listen, there’s nothing wrong with you. You were a perfect gentleman and I doubt there’s anyone who would have respected my boundaries any better than you did. That’s what I meant when I said I wasn’t sorry. You’ll understand me even better once you have my memories in your mind. You won’t have to wonder what I really felt. You’ll know.”

            He swallowed hard. He hadn’t realized holding this memory package would mean he’d be able to read her feelings.

            “Tim, if we don’t die on some alien planet, I’d like to work with you on the next tour, studying your Transmitting ability. I’m stepping down from CMO to devote all my time to psychology and parapsychology.”

            “St-stepping down? You’re leaving _seaQuest_?”

            “No. Just changing jobs. Nathan is going to try to get Dr. Westphalen back. I’ll be her assistant if she wants me, but beyond that, I’m staying out of her way in Medbay. Her talents and mine don’t overlap all that much.”

            He nodded.

            “Would you be willing to explore that part of your mind with me?”

            He let his head sway from side to side as he pondered. “I didn’t like having this _gift_ at first, but I’m beginning to think it’s not so bad. I mean, look how useful it was in prison. I have no idea how I did it, but I somehow got through to Darwin.”

            “Yes, you did. You were able to communicate our location well enough that he brought help. You and Darwin are at the top of my list.”

            “Assuming we aren’t all dead.”

            She laughed. “Of course.”

            “Do you think we’re going to make it?”

            “Yes, I do.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I trust you, Nathan, Jonathan, and Lucas to find a way.”

            He coughed lightly. “What about Brody?”

            “I trust _him_ to make your plans work.”

            “What if we just make it worse?”

            “If we can’t change it for the better, we can’t make it worse either.”

            He let her words sink in. _We can’t make it worse._ He hadn’t thought of it that way before. Those words invigorated and empowered him. He felt a new confidence welling up inside.

            “Are you ready to do the memory package now?”

            “Sure.”

            She held her hands out and he placed his hands in hers and closed his eyes. Funny how this got more and more comfortable each time. The room dissolved and in seconds they were on his private beach. Wendy looked a whole lot better this time. She smiled at him.

            _So how do we do this?_ he mindspoke.

            _I’m going to take everything I want to remember and put it in this box._ A large wooden crate materialized out of nowhere right in front of her. She gazed into its interior and sparkling lights, like a huge swarm of fireflies, drifted from her image’s head into the box. He could even recognize the French lexicon among a cluster of lights. It was so dense that it looked like a sun the size of a basketball.

            _Are these the actual memories? I mean, does leaving them here make you forget right now?_

_No. These are copies. But every memory I gained inside someone’s head during our captivity will be erased. If you destroy this box, I won’t have any way to get these memories back._

_I won’t harm the box, Wendy. I promise._

_You’ll be able to read these. You’ll know everything I felt. And you’ll be able to remove anything you like and I’ll never know._

_There’s only one thing I wish I hadn’t told you._

_Let me guess. That you’re a virgin?_

He cringed. _Yeah._

She cupped her hand close to her chest and a golden light rose into it and hovered, glowing and pulsing. _Here it is_.

            _You didn’t force that out of me. You waited until I told you._

_True. But we were both under extreme duress and it wasn’t exactly something you would have told me under normal circumstances._

_Why is it even in the box then?_

_It made me realize how difficult everything was for you. I appreciated the trust it represented._ She extended her hand to him with the fingers wide open and the glowing light hovering an inch above her palm.

            He shook his head. _Put it back in. I told you willingly. I trust you not to tell anyone else._ He gently nudged her hand back toward her.

            She blew on the memory-light and it drifted like a glowing dandelion seed back into the box. With a wave of her hand, the box closed. _That’s it_.

            He smiled back. _No, I don’t think so._ He waved his hand and two wide ribbons materialized and encircled the box sides and crossed at the top like a bow on a wrapped present. But there wasn’t a bow. Instead, there was a pool of liquid—a seal, like hot wax on an envelope. _It’s not really hot. You can press your finger in it_. _I want you to be able to verify I haven’t removed anything when you get this back._

            She looked at him with a grateful smile and pressed her fingerprint into the wax.

            _There. Now when you come for it, you’ll know if it’s been tampered with._

_You have my permission to break that seal, Tim. Even remove it._

_I understand. But we sealed this together and I intend to open it together._

_Thank you for doing this._

            _You’re welcome._


	45. Chapter 45

            The second time Nathan met with his officers and Lucas that day, he started the meeting off differently. “I apologize for putting you all under so much pressure when it wasn’t necessary, at least not so soon. We’re not going to sit here and browbeat each other, or bang our heads on the wall because we don’t have any ideas for defending our submarine against an alien mothership. I spoke to Major Allen. As long as we remove the UEO flag, change into civilian clothes, and keep a low profile, we can sail _skyQuest_ out to an uninhabited island for a little R &R. Everyone in this room will be required to go as I intend for it to be a team-building experience as well as a holiday. The rest will be invited, but given the option to stay here on base.”

            He paused to gauge their reactions. It didn’t take a psychic to read the relief on every face. “We leave as soon as everyone has finished all their medical treatments. If anyone comes up with a new proposal and wants to discuss it, that’s fine, but I want everyone to try to relax and let the ideas come naturally. We’re in a place where time has no meaning, and we have no responsibilities here, so I suggest we take full advantage of it. Unless anyone has anything else, we can quit for now.”

            Excited chatter ensued and Nathan leaned back in his chair to enjoy it. _Yes, this would help_. Lucas left with Ford and Brody, all of them headed to talk to Ortiz, from the sound of it.

            O’Neill stood stiffly. “Sir, I want you to know: just because I get seasick, I’m not really a bad sailor.”

            “I would never say that, Lieutenant.”

            He frowned. “Uh, no, sir, I mean I can _sail_. My uncle had a ketch and I worked three summers at a yacht club. I was hired to work in the repair shop on navigation and radio equipment, but whenever club members were short on crew, my cousin and I always got shanghaied. I’m okay if I take motion sickness inhibitors regularly and slather myself in sunblock. It was a big joke around the club.”

            Nathan imagined Tim had probably picked up an assortment of less-than-flattering nicknames in that set of circumstances, but it was notable that he’d gone back to the same job for three summers. “Your problem can be controlled with meds? I’m sure Dr. Davidson can accommodate you then.”

            He nodded. “I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t want to go.”

            “I forgot about your… _drawback_ , but I’m glad you can come without being sick the whole way. Beyond that, we have very few people with any sailing experience and I welcome your help.” He stood and patted him on the shoulder. “How’s your back now?”

            He grinned. “Great. I’m medically fit for duty.”

            The fact that none of them were psychologically fit didn’t need to be spoken. That was why he’d decided to take this trip. They’d spent far too much time watching each other get hurt. They needed to reconnect as a team as well as unwind.

            It was another five days before everyone was done with cosmetic surgery and follow-up appointments with doctors. Nathan and Lucas both met with Wendy to prepare ‘memory packages’ and then Wendy had all her mind-invasion memories erased. The mnemo-neurology procedure didn’t seem to cause any negative side-effects. Fifteen minutes with each of her package caretakers, and she was all done too.

            Wendy asked to come along on the trip and Nathan welcomed her, but she backed out when she discovered Henderson was planning to stay behind. Although troubled at Henderson’s decision, he resisted the urge to ask for a reason. Optional had to mean no prodding. Dr. Smith would keep an eye on her. So it appeared the _skyQuest_ would be sailing with an all-male crew.

            Kendall, Ortiz, Piccolo, Gaines, and Dr. Hernandez joined the excursion. Dagwood asked to come, probably because he wanted to be with people he knew best. Kendall said he’d been useful on the first voyage and Nathan was acutely aware they would all still be Beauregard’s prisoners if it hadn’t been for his GELF physiology. Unless it would be for his safety, Nathan wasn’t about to deny their hero an invitation.

            The TGA supplied suitable clothing and fresh rations. The Royal Navy made sure the _skyQuest_ had current navigational data for her “old fashioned” computer, along with relevant seasonal and microclimatic information. Since any mishap would draw unwanted attention, everyone bent over backwards to make sure their route was safe and easily attained by amateurs.

            Commander Hamilton found Nathan in the mess hall the night before they were scheduled to leave and whispered discreetly that the _Triumph_ had been assigned a patrol in the vicinity of their route and suggested a secret frequency they could use if anything came up. Nathan realized the TGA had arranged this to spy on them, but he was glad Hamilton had drawn the duty. If, heaven forbid, something did go wrong, he had a feeling the commander would worry about lives and safety first, not headlines or history.

            The _skyQuest_ ’s voyage, however, proceeded very smoothly. While they used their UEO ranks like pronouns to speak to each other, Nathan told them their positions on _seaQuest_ were irrelevant while they were sailing a trimaran. Thus the enlisted Seaman Gaines and civilian Hernandez became the leaders and teachers while Ford, Brody, Ortiz, and Kendall followed orders. The captain purposely took an indirect route just so everyone could get more practice. Darwin swam the entire way, since they never engaged the solar-powered engines. By the time they anchored the _skyQuest_ in a quiet lagoon, everyone had been well-versed in basic sailing skills, knew the lingo, and had even had some practice in emergency handling.

            They camped for three days, during which they all ate far too many roasted marshmallows and baked beans. The protein tubes which resembled hot dogs weren’t too bad, although no one really believed they contained any meat. Even O’Neill, who was vegetarian, didn’t hesitate to consume them. There were abundant fish for the catching for any who preferred a different protein source. During the day, they hiked, swam, fished, and played volleyball on the beach. The evenings were spent singing sea shanties around a bonfire, followed by everyone taking turns narrating their favorite ghost story or sea tale. Kendall was especially good at spinning yarns and was goaded to extra turns in the spotlight.

            At night, half of the crew slept on the sand, under the stars, while half slept on the anchored boat, in their cabins. Nathan and Lucas both opted for the latter choice. Lucas’s nightmares had become less frequent and less intense, at least from all outward appearances. Nathan had a few bad dreams, but as far as he knew, he only woke himself. Dr. Smith had done a little counseling with him before they left and she’d said nightmares might continue for several weeks, possibly even months.

            After three days of sand and campfires, Nathan sensed a growing restlessness among his crew. A casual poll revealed they were ready to set sail again. Once they were back at sea, however, no one really wanted to return to Devonport. Using the secret frequency Hamilton had given him, the captain informed their ‘observers’ they would be circling the deserted island and this was not to be interpreted as indication of a broken rudder or any situation which required any assistance.

            A trip which should have taken ten hours, even in minimal wind, took them another two days. By this time, Lucas and O’Neill had come up with several excellent ideas on combating alien abduction and Ford had suggested a brilliant backup maneuver to use as a last resort.

            Best of all, Nathan finally got the feeling their confidence had returned. They were looking forward to going back to _seaQuest_ and taking her home. The dark clouds had receded and streams of hope pierced the shadows of doom. No one was taking for granted the journey would be easy, but they no longer had that horrible attitude of defeat either.

            The only thing left now was to petition the TGA to let them return as late as possible. More time would elapse when they returned to the Black Sea in 1504 to prepare both the _seaQuest_ and her crew for the monumental task ahead, so they could reasonably request two full months of absence from 2022, but Nathan decided to play it safe and only ask for six weeks.

            The captain, his executive officer, and the chief medical officer were accompanied by Major Allen on the trip to Oxford. The transportation was an electric vehicle resembling a limousine with no windows. The driving compartment was divided from the passenger area with no apparent way to communicate except by vid-link. While this gave Nathan a flashback to the prison cell claustrophobia, he understood it was simply a measure to minimize exposure to the advanced technology they might witness if they could see outside the car.

            The ride was very smooth as if the wheels traveled on a cushion of air rather than an actual road. There was no way to gauge their speed without any outside reference. Edward spent most of the trip explaining just how much he had overstepped his bounds and how little he was supposed to have told them.

            Wendy was more nervous than Nathan had ever seen her. He squeezed her hand and whispered encouragement, but it didn’t seem to do much good.

            They reached their destination much sooner than anticipated. At first, Nathan assumed he’d been too preoccupied with Edward’s briefing to notice the passage of time, but a glance at his watch proved they’d simply been traveling faster than he’d thought or perhaps Oxford wasn’t in the same geographic location any more.

            The council chambers were rather cold and stark, especially in comparison to the conference room they had used on the base at Devonport. However, if this time regulating agency had to give audience to time travelers from the distant past, it would be difficult to furnish a room that wouldn’t contaminate the time line. You couldn’t expose someone like Jacques to computer consoles or machine-made fabric.

            Seven men and six women sat at a rough-hewn wooden table, dressed in simple tan-colored robes with no visible indication of status. None of them wore jewelry of any kind and even the hairstyles were plain and without adornment.

            Edward approached the table and introduced: “Captain Nathan Hale Bridger of the United Earth Oceans Deep Submergence Vessel, _seaQuest_.”

            Nathan nodded his thanks and didn’t bother to correct the major’s small mistake. Lots of people assumed the ‘v’ was for vessel instead of vehicle and it didn’t really make much difference. He gestured right and said, “My Executive Officer, Commander Jonathan Ford,” then to his left, “and my Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Wendy Smith.” When both had been acknowledged, he said, “We thank you for the hospitality shown my entire crew. Since our request is on psychological grounds, I will defer to Dr. Smith who also holds a Ph.D. in psychology.” He and Ford backed away to join Edward, who had taken a seat on the side of the room. The bench was made of unstained wood which appeared to have been cut with hand tools, but it had been sanded to eliminate splinters.

            Nathan would never be able to remember everything Wendy said, but he was impressed not only with the level of passion of her delivery, but the sheer weight of argument she had prepared. It sounded like a dissertation for a doctorate and very likely included every scrap of research she could scrounge from the limited computers they’d installed on _skyQuest_ along with what she had in memory. One thing for sure, they hadn’t damaged her long-term memory when they erased what she’d requested.

            The longer she spoke, the stronger her arguments became and Nathan found he was suppressing the urge to stand up and cheer. If this plea didn’t win over these toga-clad moguls who literally held the future of the planet in their hands, he couldn’t imagine what would. When she finished, no one spoke for several seconds.

            Then one of the councilors cleared her throat and spoke in a nasal drawl. “Thank you, Miss Smythe. We will consider your petition. Major, please see our guests to the waiting area.”

            Edward stood and took a step forward. Nathan didn’t like what he gathered from the man’s body language, but he chose to ignore it and focus on Wendy, who was probably reading the moods of the TGA officials even better than he was. She didn’t deserve this reaction, this disrespect. He let Ford go before him so he could wait for Wendy to reach the sidelines. He opened his arms wide and drew her into a quick hug, whispering, “That was brilliant, Doctor. Thank you.”

            But she wasn’t fooled. She pasted a smile over her dejection and nodded back.

            Edward left them in another cold anteroom, this one with hand-sewn pillows covering the utilitarian chairs. Nathan looked at Edward before the man left and caught a deep sadness in his soul along with something else he couldn’t place. The major took his hand. “In case they don’t let me see you again, I just wanted you to know I’m sorry I couldn’t make your jobs any easier. No matter what happens, I know you’ll give it your best. Don’t worry about us. We’ll get what we deserve.” He shook hands with Ford and Smith before leaving the room.

            “He’s about to get his goose cooked,” Wendy remarked when the door shut behind him.

            Nathan sighed. “I think you’re right, but it’s certainly not your fault. You did the best you could.”

            Ford shook his head. “I don’t understand. How could they ignore that mountain of data?”

            Wendy shrugged. “Maybe our psychology is as backwards and irrelevant to them as gypsies with crystal balls would be to us.”

            Nathan tilted his head. Edward wouldn’t have suggested using psychology as an argument if that had been the case. “Like hell it is. That was _not_ 140 years of psychological advancement looking down pompous noses at an amateur. That was fear, pure and simple.”

            Ford’s brows knit into even deeper furrows. “Fear? What are _they_ afraid of? They’re not facing alien abduction!”

            Just then, they heard loud, angry voices from the other room with Edward’s name prominent. They couldn’t hear everything through the walls, but they heard enough.

            “They know,” Wendy said. “They know our request is no coincidence. They’re too afraid of changing history.”

            “But why?” Jonathan argued, pacing and grunting. “We’d be stopping tyrants from taking over the oceans and defeating their enemies long before they become a threat. We’d stop the plague _they know_ is coming!”

            Wendy’s voice had a solemn, faraway quality. “But if you change the past, even a bad past, who among them might cease to exist? My grandparents met during the Vietnam War. If that war had been completely prevented, my mother might not have been conceived. They’d rather face a frightening future and take their chances with a plague than risk never being born.”

            “Great. Now what?” Jonathan fumed.

            “Hey, wait,” Nathan said. “We always knew there was a chance they wouldn’t help us. What happened to my Musketeers?”

            Jonathan stopped pacing and looked Nathan in the eyes. “All for one and one for all. Sorry, Captain. I’m still with you.”

            “Good. Wendy?”

            She sighed. “Sorry I couldn’t sway them.”

            Nathan laid his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think there’s anything you could have said any better. It’s not your fault.”

            She nodded and straightened her back. “All for one and one for all. Count me in.”

            “Good, because I’m still determined to save this planet in spite of itself. I’m not giving up _seaQuest_ without one hell of a fight.”

            Ford patted him on the back in agreement and Nathan started pacing, although his pacing was much slower than Jonathan’s had been. He wasn’t angry; he was strategizing. First on his mind was whether Edward was going to need someone to break him out of jail. They’d have to wait until they had a Mobius Hole Initiator device or else they couldn’t get back to _seaQuest_ , but once they had that, Brody could send in a team to liberate Edward and then they could take him with them. 2022 probably didn’t look too inviting to anyone a century ahead, but it had to be better than life in prison. Nathan figured he owed the major that much.

            His mind was spinning with plans and backups to those plans when there was a quiet knock at the door. Before anyone could speak or move toward it, the door opened. Edward stood there with a doleful look on his face. He shook his head and his voice cracked when he spoke. “I’m sorry, Nathan. I may have made things worse.”

            “Worse? How?”

            “I kept insisting they consider Dr. Smith’s request on its own merits and forget the dates involved. Only three of the council members agreed you should be allowed six weeks of elapsed time. The rest decided to give you one week.”

            “ _One?_ But that means—” Nathan gasped.

            “That means not only will you be there when the aliens arrive, but you won’t have any lead time to prepare. No time to run.”

            “Can’t we just ask to go back right after we were taken?” Ford asked. “Isn’t that what they normally do?”

            Wendy scowled. “Yes, but we’ve claimed we need _seaQuest_ to go missing so that all our loved ones will understand what an ordeal we’ve been through. What do we use as an excuse to ask them to reverse the very thing I just passionately argued for?”

            “Nothing,” Edward said sadly. “They wouldn’t listen anyway. They know I’ve told you and this is their way of punishing me and preventing the information from doing you any good.”

            Nathan scoffed. “Well, if they think I’m just going to give up and let history smack us in the face, they’ve got another thing coming. Are you going to be all right here? You’re welcome to come with us.”

            “I’ll be fine. Either everything will change and no one will remember any of this, or nothing will change and they’ll simply ridicule me for the failure. I’ll be fired, of course, but I was going to retire soon anyhow.”

            Nathan reached out and took his friend’s hand. “Thank you for everything.”

            Edward gripped his hand tightly and nodded. His voice was choked up when he spoke. “I’ll come see you off tomorrow if they let me. If not, you give ’em hell, Nathan.”

            The limo driver returned Nathan, Jonathan, and Wendy to Devonport without any escort. During the ride, they agreed this was only a minor setback. They would all buck up and show some enthusiasm. It wouldn’t look right for them to be glum about going home. “I’ll tell the crew after we get to the Black Sea and everything’s ready for the final trip,” Nathan said.

            Wendy and Jonathan nodded agreement to this plan and they both managed to lighten their mood before they made it back. Everyone was waiting on the deck of the _skyQuest_. Nathan put on the largest smile he could manufacture and announced, “We’re going home to _seaQuest_ tomorrow.”

            Huge cheers erupted and everyone whooped and hollered. Nathan let it continue for a good hour before he started asking people to tone it down and get some rest. Those who had been staying in the guest quarters said good night and left the boat one last time. Nathan wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling they would send _skyQuest_ and _MR-3_ out into the open sea before they activated any time-travel devices. Those big flashes of blue light were probably not too commonplace around the navy base.

            Kendall took the night watch as he had every night they’d been docked. Nathan went down to his cabin and found Lucas already tucked into his fold-down berth. “They said no, didn’t they?”

            Nathan chuckled. “You really _are_ too smart for your own britches, you know that?”

            “Yeah, I know.”

            “Dr. Smith’s speech was brilliant and her arguments were delivered articulately and with passion. But they didn’t even bother to get her name right. They’re scared for their lives, so now we have to go back a week later, just in time to get ambushed.”

            “Our plans are still sound, Captain. We knew this could happen.”

            “I thought you’d be more upset than this.”

            “I don’t think I had as much confidence as you did in those TGA people. Or maybe I just didn’t think it would matter. I think the aliens would have waited anyway. I’d rather deal with them now than be looking over our shoulders our whole lives, wondering if they’d ever come back.”

            “You’ve got a point there, kiddo.”

            A small sigh. “I guess this is our last night as roomies.”

            “You’re always welcome in my quarters, Lucas.”

            “I know. But I think someone better get Tony back in line.”

            _Sure_. They both knew Tony had nothing to do with this. Lucas was too old to be sharing a room with anyone Nathan’s age, even had he been his real father. “Yeah, you better do that.”

            “I’m gonna miss this though.”

            “Me too. Good night, Lucas.”

            “Good night, Captain.”

            Nathan fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	46. Chapter 46

            Nathan woke early, although he didn’t really need to. Kendall had kept _skyQuest_ in a perpetual state of readiness ever since they arrived. The captain had assured his chief engineer he didn’t expect him to take all the night watches and care for the trimaran like it was his own, but the only thing that would have stopped him was a direct order _not_ to. While the materials had mostly come from _seaQuest_ , and therefore the boat technically was property of the UEO, he would always think of it as Kendall’s much the same way as he thought of the _Stinger_ as Lucas’s.

            The captain had taken extra time on their holiday voyage to teach Kendall sailing maneuvers beyond what the rest of the beginners were learning. By the end of that voyage, he was at least as competent as Gaines and Hernandez and not far behind Nathan himself. If they made it home, he hoped to push Kendall into attending a real sailing school where he could get officially certified. Once he had a certified sailboat skipper, Nathan could get the trimaran added as one of _seaQuest_ ’s auxiliary crafts, just like the shuttles and the HR probe. He was also hoping Kendall’s sailboat experience might nudge him toward realizing he was a good leader, worthy of pursuing Officer Candidate School.

            As with all Nathan’s plans for the future, everything depended on keeping _seaQuest_ out of the hands of thieving aliens, and it was that irksome, nagging thought which made it impossible to sleep once he awoke. He knew any movement would probably wake Lucas, so he lay still a while, drinking in the sounds of cawing seabirds and water lapping at the hull. Just when he was contemplating how to make a silent escape, he saw Lucas’s face peering down at him.

            “Have you been waiting for me?” the teen asked.

            “Not for long. Just couldn’t sleep anymore.” He extended his leg at the same time as Lucas, then realized it would be more efficient to take turns, so he retracted.

            Lucas must have heard the squeaking hinges or felt the gentle sway of the boat caused by both of them shifting their weight, because he retracted at the same time. “Sorry. You go first.”

            Nathan had gone first almost every morning. He hadn’t thought about it much, but even when Lucas had been awake, he’d always stayed in his berth while Nathan dressed so they weren’t bumping into each other. “I don’t have to be anywhere. You can go first today.”

            “Cool,” Lucas said and hopped out of the top bunk.

            The captain didn’t know how fast Lucas normally dressed, but it appeared he wasn’t dawdling. Nathan tried not to pay too much attention lest he make the kid self-conscious, but he couldn’t help admiring his efficiency and consideration. He dressed, made his bed, pushed it up into the stowed position, and even folded his dirty laundry, leaving it in a neat pile right next to Nathan’s soiled uniforms. Was this the same kid who in the first tour lost pizza slices under mounds of wrinkled clothes and circuit boards and didn’t find them until there was more mold than pizza? When did that kid grow up into this young man?

            “’Kay, I’m outta here. See you on deck, Captain?”

            “I’ll be up in ten.” Nathan dressed and climbed the stairs where he found Lucas and Tony chatting quietly.

            Piccolo snapped to attention and saluted. “Cap’n on deck!”

            Funny how almost everyone else had treated their time here like one big shore leave, but ever since Nathan had chosen _not_ to draw attention to the informality of their setting that first morning in port, Piccolo had ignored what everyone else was doing and instead conducted himself as if he were on duty, at least every time Nathan had seen him. He returned the salute. “As you were, Mr. Piccolo. Where’s Chief Kendall?” He looked around, but no one else appeared to be up.

            “The chief asked me to relieve him at 0300.”

            The captain chuckled. “What bet did you lose this time?”

            Piccolo shook his head. “None, sir.” His tone wasn’t indignant; he knew his reputation, but he wasn’t kidding either. “He didn’t wanna be dead tired when we set sail. I figured you’d probably need him more than you’d need me, so I said okay.”

            “You _volunteered_ for a night watch without any coercion?”

            “Ask the chief.” Now his tone was a bit defensive. Still, he wasn’t disrespectful; he was simply frustrated.

            “No, it isn’t that I doubt your word. Tell me something.” He took two steps closer and grabbed Tony’s shoulder, cupping it in his palm. “Isn’t your enlistment up soon? I thought all you cared about was getting out of the Navy.”

            “I been thinking I might sign up for another stint. It ain’t so bad if I can stay outta the brig.”

            “You’ve done more than just keep your nose clean the last few months. You’ve demonstrated a positive attitude toward your duties, you’ve shown initiative, and you’ve put others ahead of yourself on several occasions. I think you could have a career here if you keep this up. You let me know when you’ve decided.”

            Piccolo locked eyes with him. The captain wasn’t sure if the look on his face was just surprise or something else. “I don’t gotta think about it, sir. I’m stayin’.”

            Nathan was tired of putting everything on hold while they all worried about whether or not _seaQuest_ would dodge the alien bullet. They might all die trying to change history, but that didn’t mean they had to stop living now. He adopted an official tone. “Seaman Anthony Piccolo, I hereby grant you a field promotion to petty officer. I’ll log it on _seaQuest_ ’s computer as soon as we get there. It may be a while before you see it in your paycheck.”

            Tony’s face lit up. “Thank you, sir!”

            Nathan smiled and clapped him on the back. “You earned it. You can take this as far as you want to. It’s really up to you.”

            A glimmer of sadness flickered over his countenance, but he hid it quickly. It was gone so fast Nathan wasn’t even sure it’d been there. Piccolo jerked forward a little, but caught himself before he took a step. “Are we done here, sir?”

            Another light chuckle. “Yes, you’re dismissed.”

            He shot off toward the gangplank. Nathan wondered who he’d tell first since Lucas had seen the whole thing. He glanced at the teen who’d been awfully quiet. “Well?”

            “That was very cool, Captain. Tony’s more excited than he looks.”

            “It means you’ll probably still have a roommate next tour. Assuming _you_ ’re coming back.”

            Lucas laughed. “Don’t you mean, ‘assuming _seaQuest_ isn’t hijacked by aliens’?”

            He shrugged. “That too. But you’re going to be an adult soon. Once you’re eighteen, you won’t be stuck with us just because your father pulled some strings.”

            “ _SeaQuest_ is my home, Captain. I’m staying as long as you’ll have me.”

             Nathan winked. “Good, because I’d be hard-pressed to find another chief computer analyst as good as you.”

            “I know.” Lucas’s blue eyes sparkled.

            “Although…” Nathan tried to keep his voice serious even though he couldn’t help the smile forming. “…it might be worth it to find someone with a tad more humility.”

            “Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it.”

            “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

            He nodded. The blush on his cheek and the fact he looked away meant Nathan had embarrassed him, and while he hadn’t meant to get all mushy, he wasn’t sorry he said it. Lucas didn’t need to hear it less now; he needed to hear it more. Whatever Nathan did in that alternate timeline to lose his rapport, he didn’t want to see even a hint of it starting here.

            The captain ruffled his blond hair. “Don’t you forget it, either.”

            A couple shakes of his head. “I won’t. Hey, when are we supposed to be leaving?”

            “They didn’t say other than ‘in the morning’. Major Allen wasn’t even sure the council would let him come see us off.”

            “What are they going to do to him?”

            “He seems to think he’ll be all right. If we succeed, no one will ever know what he did. If we fail, he’ll be fired in disgrace.”

            “What happened to ‘two life sentences’?”

            “Maybe he was exaggerating.”

            “Last night or ten days ago?”

            Nathan shrugged. “Good question.”

            Footsteps sounded on the gangplank. Commander Ford’s head appeared a little more with each. He called quietly, “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

            “Granted.”

            He climbed the last few feet and dropped his duffel near the stairs that led down to the quarters. When he was close enough for a quiet conversation, he spoke. “You’re not going to believe what I heard in the mess a minute ago.”

            Nathan suppressed a grin. “That Piccolo somehow landed a field promotion to petty officer?”

            Ford’s jaw dropped but he closed it fast. “He wasn’t joking?” He looked back and forth between Nathan and Lucas. The teen shook his head but didn’t speak.

            The captain chuckled. “Should we get Dr. Smith up here to give me another psych evaluation?”

            The commander’s eyes returned to normal and he shook his head. “I’m just sorry you beat me to it.”

            Now it was Nathan’s turn to raise his brows.

            “I was considering putting a recommendation in his file after his escapade in the Amazon. After learning how he got to If, I made definite plans to follow through when we got home. You beat me to it.”

            Nathan grinned. “Captain’s prerogative.”

            “So I guess I don’t need to go back and halt the rumor mill.”

            “Guess not.”

            He turned to Lucas. “Do me a favor and don’t tell him I thought it was another one of his jokes.”

            “Secret’s safe with me, Commander.”

            Ford turned back to the captain. “Do you need me for anything right now, sir?”

            Nathan shook his head. “Not at all.”

            “Lucas, how about you? You got time to help me?”

            The teen exchanged looks with the captain who gave him a nod. “Sure,” Lucas said. “What d’you need?”

            “Come on.” He gestured with his head and his hand and then the two took off down the stairs.

            Nathan crossed the deck to a harbor-facing rail and gazed out. He would miss the sounds and the smells he couldn’t duplicate on a submarine. Not that he’d ever trade those for _seaQuest_ , but this base hadn’t been a bad place to recover, all things considered. The Royal Navy had been extremely generous and the TGA had at least taken Jacques off their hands and was helping them get home. He couldn’t really blame them for having rules against interfering with history.

            A voice rose from behind him. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

            Nathan whirled around to find Edward standing just far enough up the gangplank he could see across the deck. “Of course, Edward. Come on up! How did you know it was me?” His back had been turned, after all.

            Edward resumed his ascent. He cringed at the question. “Grey hair. Sorry, Nathan.”

            The captain chuckled and walked toward his friend, hand extended.

            The major carried an attaché case, which he transferred to his left hand so he could shake with his right.

            “Good to see you, my friend. They let you come alone?”

            Edward let out a derisive scoff. “They did it to rub my nose in _their_ horse pucky. They decree from on high. They program all the M.H. Initiators. Then they parade me out in front of you so you can see my fall from grace. This is supposed to take all the wind out of your sails.” He looked up at the bare masts. “No pun intended.”

            Nathan offered a sly grin and whispered conspiratorially, “Well, they can have their wind because we have solar-powered impeller jets.” He patted the rails which were covered in solar collectors.

            Edward shook his head. “I feel so badly for Dr. Smith. How is she taking this?”

            Nathan sighed softly. “She compared herself to a gypsy with a crystal ball.”

            “Damn. She was brilliant. I hope she knows I didn’t mean to make this worse.”

            “She was in your mind, Edward. She knows.”

            “I thought she had all that erased?”

            _Oh yeah._ “I guess she did, but she formed plenty of opinions outside of the mind-scan. If she’s blaming anyone, it’s herself.”

            He nodded, but his eyes had that far-off look.

            “Edward, I can’t promise everything will change for the better, but things have already changed and…” he lowered his voice a few octaves “…and we aren’t as backwards and incompetent as your council seems to have taken us for. We’re _not_ going down without a fight.”

            He snapped out of his reverie and nodded. “I know. I’m being selfish. _When_ you succeed, I’ll lose a good friend and I won’t even know what I lost.”

            “Let’s hope the world is so much better it outweighs the loss.”

            Edward chuckled. “That’s bloody optimistic of you, Nathan.”

            “Yeah, well, I guess I’m still trying to convince myself I have reasons beyond my own selfishness to do this. It’s a good thing saving my crew happens to coincide with saving the whole planet or I’m not sure I’d be so keen.”

            Edward pressed his lips into a thin line. “I know how you feel about your crew and that’s why I’ve already started mourning _my_ loss.”

            The captain rallied a smile. “You best mourn while you can because I aim to put a stop to it.” He reckoned the second they left this timeline, everything would change, one way or another. Of course he and his crew wouldn’t know for at least a couple of days how things turned out, but for Edward, it would be instantaneous.

            The major drew a deep breath. “All right, enough of the personal. Do you want me to explain how to work these things to you, or do you want to get your techies to hear it straight from me?”

            Nathan remembered how much trouble Lucas and O’Neill had had just trying to decide what all Beauregard’s futuristic equipment _did_.  “That depends. How hard is it to understand?”

            “It’s really very simple.” He opened the attaché and pulled out two black metal boxes about triple the size of PALs. They’d been marked by hand with a white paint-pen. On the top of each box was a large number and smaller lettering. The #1 box said, “7 June 1504; 0300 hours; 43 degrees, 15.7 minutes north; 31 degrees, 49.0 minutes east; sea level”. That would put them in the middle of the Black Sea at a time no one was likely to witness. He read the second: “10 September 2022; 2300 hours; 0 degrees, 40.5 minutes north; 91 degrees, 20.1 minutes west; 1500 meters below sea level”. The Pacific Ocean, just northwest of the Galapagos, right where _seaQuest_ had been when the whole thing started, just seven days later.

            The two men exchanged grim glances. “Somewhere between twelve and twenty-four hours,” Edward said solemnly to the unvoiced question of when the aliens would arrive, “as best as we can tell.”

            Nathan nodded.

            “These boxes each provide only a single jump. After it’s been used, all the circuits inside will self-destruct and you’ll be left with a box of ashes. That’s so you can’t reverse-engineer the device. Both of these have already been programmed. All you have to do is push the ‘activate’ button when you’re ready.” There was a big red arrow in plastic electrical tape pointing to the fourth button in a row of six. Other than the arrow, all the buttons appeared the same and had no labels.

            “Yes, I see they made it monkey-proof. So are you going to tell me what the other buttons do?”

            “On this one,” Edward said, lifting #1, “they probably all function normally, which means they control the variables, such as the date, location, and altitude. I would show you how to program it, but I can’t imagine you’d want to change any of these.”

            He was right. They had to get to _seaQuest_ and all the variables were already ideal. “What about the buttons on that one?” Nathan pointed to the #2 box.

            “It’s been booby-trapped. If you push any other button or try to open the casing, then it activates a homer. You’ll end up right back here, where I will most definitely be fired. They’ll assign a Temporal Agent to escort you the next time. You won’t even get to see his Initiator. I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to get around the security on this, Nathan. I wouldn’t blame you for asking young Lucas to try it, but I think you’d just be wasting your time.”

            Nathan shook his head. “Not worth the risk.” He didn’t want to come back here all shamefaced, like some child with his hand caught in the cookie jar. How could he face Edward with him looking any worse than he did right now? No, the TGA had been given a chance to help and they’d refused. Now it was up to his crew.

            Edward nodded and handed him the devices.

            “Are we cleared to go, or do we have to wait for the Royal Navy?”

            “Someone is supposed to drop off an approved course for you to take, but an escort would mean too many witnesses. We’d rather they don’t let a bunch of sailors see the Mobius Hole. People know time travel is possible in theory, but we try to keep it cloaked in mystique lest the ambitious get bad ideas.”

            “All the better. We can plot a course without a babysitter.”

            “Oh, and don’t be surprised if any of the Navy chaps look at you like you’re on a suicide mission. There’s a widespread urban myth that time travel is exceedingly dangerous. We purposely feed that myth.”

            Nathan chuckled. “Well, suicide mission isn’t far from the truth, this time. But it does explain some of the hero-worship from the admirals when we first arrived. You could have told me this sooner.”

            The major rolled his eyes. “I guess I had _other_ things on my mind.”

            They both shared a chuckle over that. Edward extended his hand. “I know you’ll do your best. Just remember, if you fail, it’s not your fault. Some things can’t be changed.”

            Nathan shook the proffered hand firmly. “And some things _can_ , Edward. I know you’ll forget me, but I won’t forget. I owe you big for this one.”

            Edward scoffed. “Too bad I won’t be able to collect.”

            They both looked at each other and then spontaneously drew in for a short hug, still holding right hands and slapping each other’s backs with their lefts. Edward broke away, turned, and hurried toward the gangplank.

            Nathan stowed the M.H. Initiators on the bridge, making sure they were secure so the buttons wouldn’t get triggered by an accidental fall. Crewmembers starting filtering back from the base, but very few bothered with requesting permission to come aboard. Nathan had always been pretty lenient on those kinds of things and he’d encouraged even more relaxation of the rules ever since If Island. He wasn’t worried about discipline. It would all come back when they got to _seaQuest_ , just as it always did after a shore leave. He never had to demand respect; his crew gave it to him freely, and that was a lot more important than regulations.

            At 0900, one of the Royal Navy commodores arrived with their course instructions. Nathan met him on the dock and glanced over the papers to be sure he had no questions, but it was all quite standard. “Commander Hamilton asked me to relay his farewells, Captain. He’s out on patrol and couldn’t be here to see you off.”

            “Tell the commander I appreciate it and relay mine to him.”

            “I will. I’m proud to have met you, Captain Bridger.” The commodore saluted.

            Nathan blinked his surprise, since he was not only a lower rank, but from an entirely different navy. However, his astonishment didn’t delay the return salute.

            “On behalf of myself and my crew, I’d like to thank the Royal Navy for the warm hospitality you’ve shown us.”

            “Our pleasure, Captain. Smooth sailing.”

            “Thank you, Commodore.”

            The commodore turned and walked away, but when the captain was halfway up the gangplank, he saw the commodore turn his head to get one last glance at _skyQuest._ Nathan didn’t hear the sigh, but he saw the man’s chest heave and his head shake slightly before he resumed his retreat.

            By 0930, everyone was present and accounted for, so the captain called a meeting on the main deck. “We’ve got course instructions and a time travel device to get us back to _seaQuest_. We have to take _skyQuest_ and _MR-3_ out to specified coordinates before we activate. Commander Ford and Lieutenant O’Neill will pilot the shuttle and Dr. Forrester will ride with them. Anyone else prefer submarine to sailing, speak now.”

            Tony raised his hand.

            “Yes, _Petty Officer_ Piccolo?” Nathan said deliberately. If Ford thought his rank was a joke, probably most of the rest of the crew did too, so it was time he set everyone straight. Sure enough, as soon as it left the captain’s mouth, there were gasps and murmurs of surprise.

            “I just wanted to volunteer to take the launch, sir.”

            “Approved.”

            Ford cleared his throat lightly. “Captain, before you continue, may I have a second?”

            “Absolutely, Commander.” Nathan stepped back to give Ford the floor.

            “Mr. Piccolo, we couldn’t get you a new uniform until we get back to _seaQuest_ , but I think this will do for now.” Jonathan turned to Lucas, who pulled a navy blue jumpsuit from behind his back. The commander grabbed the shoulders and let it unfold, then held it up for all to see. A blank piece of fabric had been hand-sewn over the left chest area where the embroidered name usually appeared and P.O.  A. Piccolo had been inked in with a permanent laundry marker. It was a little harder to see the black on navy, but it was clear enough for a few hours. The right pant leg had been reattached just above the knee, which meant that particular jumpsuit had gone through a guillotine.

            The crew all clapped and hooted. Tony stepped forward and accepted the uniform. “Thanks, Commander.” He tried to hide the blush in his cheek but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

            “Please hold all promotion-related hazing for when we get back to _seaQuest_ ,” the captain said with a patently fake air of disapproval. Tony pulled enough practical jokes that it was Nathan’s pleasure to declare open season on _him_. He just didn’t want any delays right now.

            The crew all nodded understanding of the captain’s order. He could practically see the cogs turning in their minds as they started to plot pranks for later. Ford stepped back and swept his arm to the captain in the direction of the vacated space. “That was it. I’m done.”

            Nathan nodded to his executive officer. The uniform had been a fine gesture and well worth the interruption. He stepped back into the limelight. “Chief Kendall will skipper the _skyQuest_. Mr. Ortiz, I want you on sensors. Lieutenant Brody, please man the radio and navigations stations. Dagwood, if you’d stand by on the capstan, that would be appreciated.”

            The trimaran wasn’t anchored, just tied to the dock, so this was really just to make sure he didn’t get in anyone else’s way. “You know not to touch the hub if we drop anchor, right?”

            A slow nod from the large man. “Yes sir, Captain, sir.”

            They probably wouldn’t drop the anchor, but it never hurt to review safety, especially with someone of Dagwood’s limited intelligence. “Everyone else will be hoisting sails and securing riggings, including me. Those who know how to do it, help those who don’t. Winds look good, so let’s hope we don’t have to do a lot of tacking. Any questions?”

            He looked around and saw shaking heads. Everyone looked eager to get started.

            “Chief Kendall, she’s all yours.”

            “Thank you, Captain!” Kendall said with a grin. He started issuing orders in a calm and logical stream, directing people to untie the moorings and pull out the stowed sails.

            _Not a leader, my butt,_ Nathan thought.

            “All ashore who’re going ashore,” Kendall called.

            Ford, O’Neill, Forrester, and Piccolo hurried down the gangplank toward _MR-3_ , while both crews called out, “Smooth sailing!” to each other. From somewhere on the foredeck, Nathan heard an audio speaker crackle into function and then a recording of “Anchors Aweigh” started playing. The crew cheered uproariously. Slowly, the trimaran slid away from the port. A quick look at the dock revealed his four men had made it inside the shuttle launch. A dozen Royal Navy officers stood in a straight line on the docks, saluting the departing vessel. Nathan jogged to the stern and stood tall to return the salute. Finally, they were on their way home.


	47. Chapter 47

            When they got close, Kendall ordered all the sails down so they could run on impeller jets only. It gave them more control over the wind. Nathan climbed up to the highest boom to look around. They didn’t really need a lookout. Ortiz could see much more on sonar and radar than anyone ever could with human eyes. But there was something about being up there with the salty sea air blowing his hair and the sun on his face. The ocean looked the same in 2165 as it did in 2022 and 1504: a flat horizon of crystal blue in every direction. They weren’t that far away from England, but there was no land in sight, and no ships either.

            “Captain, we’ve arrived at the coordinates,” Brody called from the bridge.

            “Thank you,” Nathan and Kendall chorused together.

            Kendall looked at Nathan with chagrin. “Sorry, Captain.”

            “No apologies necessary, Chief. You _are_ the captain of this boat, at least for now. We’ll see about making it permanent when we get back to our own time.”

            If Kendall could have looked any more surprised, Nathan couldn’t imagine how. “I’d like that, sir. Thank you.”

            “Oh, and you’re also going to enter her in every design and engineering competition in existence and register for patents. These concepts are probably worth money to some manufacturer out there.”

            “I don’t really care about the money.”

            “Fine. But you’re still going to get patents. You can always donate profits to a charity of your choice. You keep _control_ that way. No one can steal your brilliant design for _their_ greed.”

            “Yes, sir. Makes sense.”

            He hopped down from the boom. “Lieutenant Brody, have you heard from _MR-3_?”

            “They’re right below us, holding at twenty meters.”

            Nathan raised his voice so everyone on deck could hear. “Everyone prepare for crossing the Hole. You’ve all done it before. We’re going from noon to midnight, so don’t panic when it gets dark.”

            “Aye, sir,” sounded from every direction. They were ready.

            “Brody, relay that to _MR-3_.”

            He waited while Brody repeated his message and then looked up from the radio with a thumb’s up. Nathan pulled out the #1 Mobius Hole Initiator, checked the coordinates and double-checked the large numeral. He called out, “Hold on!” and pressed the button. Blue light flashed.

            Most of the crew had been sleeping on their last trip, and it had been the wee hours of the morning in the Mediterranean, so even those who were awake couldn’t have seen the sight now before them. Underwater, the Mobius Hole looked like a strange vertical whirlpool, but above the surface and in bright daylight, it looked like a heat distortion, the kind of waves you see just above hot asphalt on a summer day, except these were swirling in a large circle just ahead.

            Nathan almost gave the order to take her in, but he caught himself and instead nodded to Kendall to give the command.

            “Heading straight for the swirly, steady as she goes,” Kendall called. He turned the ship’s wheel himself and steered for the middle of the distortion.

            Nathan nodded wordlessly to Brody, who understood to relay the order to Ford. He didn’t know how long the Mobius Hole stayed open, but he certainly didn’t want anyone left behind. Ford wouldn’t wait for an order, but would just keep pace on his own. That was one of the reasons he chose Jonathan to pilot the shuttle. He was smart enough to think for himself.

            “ _MR-3_ is matching our course and speed,” Ortiz reported.

            In seconds, the blue light dazzled and the trimaran shook, but the turbulence didn’t seem as great as it was underwater. When the blue light blinked out, they were swallowed in darkness so dense Nathan couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face. He pressed the luminescence button on his diving watch and sighed with relief he wasn’t blind.

            “Running lights!” Kendall called.

            “Running lights, aye,” someone answered and the little solar lanterns lit up all over the deck.

            “Sonar compass confirms we’re in the Black Sea,” Ortiz reported.

            “Captain, I’ve got _seaQuest_!” Brody said. “They’re having trouble believing it’s really us because we only left If Island a few hours ago.”

            “Put me on,” Nathan said.

            “This is Captain Bridger. To whom am I speaking?”

            “Warrant Officer MacDonald, sir.”

            “We’ve had another encounter with a Mobius Hole. That’s how we got here so fast. Can you get a fix on _skyQuest_ and _MR-3_? We don’t have a lot of fuel, so you’ll need to come to us.”

            There was some unintelligible commotion in the background and then, “We should be there in thirty minutes at half speed, Captain. Do you need us there faster?”

            It was so good to hear nice short estimates like that again. But full speed would have been overkill. “No, half speed is fine, Mr. MacDonald. Let the shuttle into Launch Bay first, then surface for _skyQuest_. Bridger out.”

            Everyone on deck was high-fiving, chest-butting, and skipping around like giddy kids. Nathan wondered how long he dared delay telling them what they were facing in 2022. At least it would be a couple days to prepare and unless there was another mad Frenchman from the future lying in ambush, this was probably the safest place for them to be. A hundred feet below the surface, they would be utterly alone. In fact, it was so safe here it was almost tempting to stay.

            Nathan had been close to this level of primitivism on his island. And if they had been stuck here with no way to get back, his crew could adjust to living here too. However, there were too many families back home and too many obligations for them to just live peaceful, quiet lives here in the sixteenth century. The crew of the _seaQuest_ were not ones to hide while their own world was in jeopardy. They would take as long as they needed to prepare and then they’d go back and do their best, suicide mission or not. At least this time, they knew it was a trap and they’d be ready.

            Nathan wandered over to a pensive Kendall. “Chief, I probably should have asked this sooner, but will _skyQuest_ **_fit_** through the cargo bay doors?”

            He looked up with a grin. “She comes apart like K’nex, Captain.”

            “Like _what_?”

            “Building toys for budding engineers. All three hulls will break down into pieces no bigger than your cabin. The masts unscrew and telescope down to ten foot lengths. The whole thing will store in the same space as Dr. Raleigh’s geologic observation platform.”

            “Genius. You’re going to win awards with this, I guarantee it.”

            Kendall scoffed. “I only built her like this because there’s no other way to build a sailboat _inside_ a submarine. If I’d tried to build her on land, too many people would’ve seen and I would’ve had to assign thirty guys just for security. I didn’t _have_ thirty guys.”

            “Too bad none of the competitions will have categories like ‘built inside a two-car garage’ or ‘conceived, designed, and built in under four weeks’.”

            “Or ‘built without access to a parts warehouse’.”

            “That too.” Nathan patted him on the back. “So how do we take it apart?”

            “Dagwood,” Kendall called, beckoning him with a hand gesture.

            The gentle GELF came quickly. “Do you need me, Chief Kendall, sir?”

            “Yeah, I need you to catch the mast when we unscrew it. Remember when we put it on? It comes off just the same.”

            He nodded deeply. “Okay.” He stood facing the mast with his arms extended like it would walk into his embrace.

            Kendall bent at the hip and grabbed the mast, wrapping his arm all the way around. “One hundred eighty degrees counter-clockwise and then push in and an inch clockwise, like a bayonet mounting.” He demonstrated and the mast popped right out. Dagwood rushed forward to take it before it could lean. “Go ahead and set it on the deck, Dag. Then come help with the other one.”

            Nathan tried to banish the thought that the GELF only needed a kilt and he’d be right at home in a caber toss. The big guy set the mast down carefully, making sure he didn’t hit anything on deck. Kendall called a few of the others who’d been on his crew at the beginning to telescope the mast and start dismantling the rails. “Leave the lights until _seaQuest_ gets here or we won’t be able to see,” he ordered.

            The captain snagged Dagwood and had him catch the next mast after he unscrewed it. It really did come apart easily, but he could see no way for a storm to mimic his movements. He examined the fitting. All it took was a little work with a router. Then he noticed the base of the mast was real wood, solid, and slightly smaller in diameter than an old-fashioned telephone pole. But phones were all wireless and not even power poles were made of wood in 2022. Nothing was made of real wood anymore, at least not in any of the countries who’d adopted the Equilateral Environmental Acts. They wouldn’t have lumber aboard _seaQuest_ at all. He waited until Kendall was alone and then whispered, “Where did you get the wood, Chief?”

            “Turkey.”

            “But how did you chop down a tree?” They didn’t have chainsaws or any way to mill lumber on _seaQuest_.

            “Didn’t. We traded for it. And without O’Neill, it wasn’t easy.”

            “You _talked_ to the locals?”

            “Gestured more like. I wasn’t there, but I heard about it. Science department handled it.”

            Nathan nodded, then a thought hit. He mock-cringed. “Do I want to know what they had to trade to get this?” Of course, whatever it was, it didn’t really matter, considering why they needed the sailboat to begin with. Still, if they didn’t all end up on Hyberion or dead, he was going to have to explain all this to the UEO.

            “Salvage from a shipwreck. Nothing that would contaminate the timeline.”

            He hadn’t even been worried about that, but it was good to know someone had thought of it. Also good to know they didn’t have to totally strip down _seaQuest_ just to build a trimaran. “Nice job,” was all he could think to say.

            “Yeah, but I’ll have to file an exception for all those competitions you want me to enter, or replace the wood with something more politically correct.”

            “Replacing the wood doesn’t bring the tree back. May as well keep it. If it’s a problem, just enter the designs.”

            They’d stopped whispering and were just chatting as they worked. The top deck was nearly bare of accoutrements by the time _seaQuest_ bubbled up beside them. She opened her large cargo doors and Nathan ordered up some floodlights.

            Kendall started in next. “Everyone who’s got gear in the crew quarters best get it now. We’re going to take her all apart.” He directed Dagwood to move the masts. They were shorter now, but just as heavy.

            “Can you handle everything up here?” Nathan asked.

            “Absolutely. Just like K’nex. We should have her all stowed away and be ready to submerge in under an hour.”

            “Then I’ll leave _skyQuest_ in your capable hands. I think it’s time I attended to _my_ boat.”

            Kendall smiled. “Glad she’s got her captain back.”

            Nathan took a moment to ask Lucas to take care of Darwin. They couldn’t let the dolphin out the hull lock because the Black Sea wasn’t salty enough for him. They’d have to go get him with the portable tank. Lucas promised to take care of it. Nathan grabbed his duffel and Lucas’s out of their quarters. He placed the #2 M.H. Initiator safely inside his own duffel and disembarked the sailboat straight onto _seaQuest_. MacDonald saluted and Nathan set down Lucas’s duffel to return the salute.

            “Welcome back, Captain. Returning command to you. All systems fully operational. Still no satellites, Internex, or radio to interface with. All crew accounted for, none in Medbay.”

            “Thank you, MacDonald. It’s very good to be home.” Nathan extended his hand and they shook.

            MacDonald grabbed the abandoned duffel and pointed to the one Nathan still held. “Can I help you with these, sir?”

            “That one is Lucas’s. You can take it to his quarters. He’s busy with Darwin right now. I’ll take mine, thanks.”

            “Aye, sir.”

            Nathan headed toward the mag-lev. When the doors opened, he found Ford, O’Neill, and Piccolo waiting to exit. Piccolo was wearing his hand-altered uniform already.

            “Mr. Piccolo, please help Lucas get Darwin off _skyQuest_.”

            “Aye, Captain.” He shot off toward the cargo doors.

            “Commander, can you oversee things up here? Kendall tells me the whole trimaran comes apart for easy storage. He can handle the dismantle if you can keep the unloading and storing organized.”

            Ford nodded.

            “Lieutenant, I need to see you in the ward room in fifteen minutes.”

            “Aye, sir,” O’Neill said.

            The captain stopped off in his quarters to drop off his duffel and comb his hair. It had been quite windy on _skyQuest_. Ironically, his beard had grown back and looked much the same as the last time he’d peered into his own mirror, over two months ago. _One week_. _What a slap in the face._ He pushed his annoyance aside. Too much work to do to think about that now. He stopped off at the bridge, just to check in.

            Just as he made it through the clamshell doors, he heard, “Captain on the bridge!” MacDonald must have run all the way from cargo bay to Lucas’s quarters to here in order to arrive ahead of him. Either that, or Nathan had spent far too much time staring in the mirror. Everyone came to attention.

            “As you were,” Nathan said. Besides there being no officers around, every­thing looked normal. The crew were genuinely happy to see him and told him so individually as he made the rounds, glancing over both the instruments and those manning them.

            “You’ve all done an exceptional job in my absence. Commander Ford is overseeing operations in the cargo bay. He should be done within the hour. When he returns, we’ll be submerging again. Mr. MacDonald, you have the bridge. I’ll be in the ward room.” It felt very strange not to leave an officer in charge, but they’d done just fine all this time without them. Getting back to normal procedures could wait.

            “I have the bridge, aye, sir,” MacDonald confirmed. He looked pleased to be trusted.

            Nathan left the bridge and hurried to the ward room. O’Neill was already there. He stood and saluted when the captain entered. Nathan returned the salute and then motioned him to be seated. He sat on the other side of the table, facing his communications officer.

            “Lieutenant, I’m going to have you assigned one hour a day of bridge duty, just so you can keep an eye on communications. You will also spend at least eight hours out of every twenty-four sleeping, and one hour eating. That is not negotiable. I need you at your peak. However, for as much of the rest of the time as you are physically able, I have a special project for you.”

            O’Neill nodded, unfazed by the extreme hours just suggested.

            “I want you to search the database for all the footage we have of that Hyberion Stormer that arrived in the comet. There’s probably security footage somewhere from Professor Le Conte’s university, maybe even an old personal diary, but those are most likely not available until we get back to our own time and can hook up to the Internex again. Even then, you may have to get Lucas to help you find something useful. We only have twelve to twenty-four hours once we get there, so I want you to start now with what we have here.”

            “What am I looking for, sir?”

            “I want you to try to learn their language.”

            O’Neill’s eyes widened, but he swallowed hard and nodded.

            Nathan let his captain mask down. “Tim, I know this is probably impossible. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

            “I understand, sir. I’ll do my best.”

            “Work on it from your quarters. I’m going to tell the rest of the crew every­thing before we go back, but there’s no reason they need to bear the burden any sooner than necessary. I’ll check in on your progress. Let me know if you need anything.”

            A nod and then, “Do you want me to take my one hour on the bridge now, or start on this first?”

            “Go up to the bridge now. Even if things are a mess, don’t mention it. Everyone was concentrating on building a trimaran and rescuing _us_. Remember, a dolphin was in command.”

            “Understood, sir. Nothing but praise.”

            Nathan stood, rounded the table, and patted Tim’s shoulder as he headed out. He got to the door and looked back. His communications officer sat motionless, staring at the empty wall. “You coming?”

            Tim snapped out of his reverie. “Uh… yes, sir.” He bolted out of his chair and hurried to follow. After a short walk together, Tim took the mag-lev to the bridge while Nathan headed toward Medbay.

            The hatch was open and Dr. Smith was inside. He knocked as he stepped over the threshold. “Can I come in?” he asked rhetorically.

            Her face revealed a harried expression for a second, but it dissolved when she found out she wasn’t alone. She nodded. “Of course.”

            “Did the houseguests leave a mess?”

            She shook her head. “Not really. It doesn’t look like they used anything but a few first aid supplies and over-the-counter headache meds. They even kept a running list on my computer so my requisitioning will be a piece of cake.”

            “You’ve trained your staff well.”

            She shrugged. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

            He shook his head. “I came to see if there was anything _I_ could do for _you_.”

            Wendy smiled. “No patients. No mess. I don’t even know what _I_ ’m going to do.”

            “How about rest? Don’t think I didn’t notice you never stopped working back in Devonport. You were with every single one of us when we saw Dr. Davidson, you attended all the surgeries, and you prepared the dissertation of a lifetime for the TGA council.”

            She scoffed. “For all the good it did us.”

            “It had nothing whatsoever to do with your speech, Doctor. You know that. But I wasn’t finished. I also happen to know you’ve been counseling every­one who survived If in between all these other things.”

            Her brows furrowed and she frowned.

            “Yes, of course we _need_ it,” he answered her unvoiced question. “But what about _your_ needs? You didn’t come on the campout holiday with us. You haven’t had a day off in months. You had part of your memory erased. All of this on top of the ordeal we all shared in that nightmare prison. Don’t try to tell me the rest of us all need counseling, but you’re somehow fine.”

            She sighed and lifted both hands in surrender. “You got me, Nathan. Guilty as charged.”

            “So what are you doing for _you_?”

            She shook her head and shrugged. “I haven’t had much time to think about me.”

            “Make time then. Medbay has been without its CMO for two months. As long as there are no emergencies, it can do without her for a couple more days. Take. Time. Off.”

            She opened her mouth to object but he held up his index finger.

            “No buts. That’s an order, Doctor.”

            Wendy produced a shy smile of defeat, then she did a lax salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

            He studied her a moment. “If I find out you’re counseling on the sly, I will put you on forced shore leave.”

            “Here? You wouldn’t.”

            Of course he wouldn’t drop a beautiful woman off alone where the natives didn’t speak English and the culture was not what most would consider civilized. They both knew that. But he had to let her know he was serious. He lifted his index finger to face level and shook it. “Don’t tempt me.”

            She nodded with a smile. “Thank you, Nathan.”


	48. Chapter 48

            Tim checked his watch. He wasn’t due for his eight hours of sleep for another two hours. He’d already dug up all the footage from the security cameras on _seaQuest_ , isolated all the pieces showing the Stormer, and watched them multiple times. When what he had showed so little promise of proving useful, he went to Lucas, explained his mission and asked the teen to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

            While Tim would readily admit Lucas possessed greater hacking skills than anyone in the UEO, he didn’t really think calling up security logs was at all worthy of the teen’s time or talents. He was almost embarrassed to ask. Still, taking time to talk to Lucas had given Tim a little stress relief and it meant nothing would possibly be overlooked. If he failed (and to Tim it was looking more and more like a _when_ rather than an _if_ ), he’d be able to report both of them had applied themselves to the task and left no stone unturned.

            The search only took Lucas 70% as long as it took Tim, but the results were identical and produced no new footage to work with. “Sorry I couldn’t help,” Lucas said.

            Tim sighed deeply. “Not your fault.”

            “When we get back to 2022, I’ll be able to get into the university security logs for sure and maybe Professor LeConte’s personal files.”

            _Great. Hand me a mountain of data and ask me to learn an alien language while there’s a clock ticking down to doomsday._ He couldn’t decide which was worse, failing because he had no samples at all or failing because he had tons of samples but not enough time to make any sense of them.

            Actually, the reason wasn’t going to matter. Either way, he’d have to tell Captain Bridger he’d failed. It didn’t matter the captain had acknowledged this ‘might be impossible’. He’d said it was important and he’d cleared Tim’s schedule so he could concentrate solely on this. He was counting on him.

            Lucas must have realized Tim’s dilemma. “But there’s still no guarantee there are any language samples in existence.”

            Tim nodded. “Yeah, like trying to translate a blank sheet of paper.”

            “He’s not gonna be mad, you know.”

            “Oh, I know. He’ll thank me for trying and be totally understanding. But _I_ ’ll be mad at me.” Tim didn’t bother to explain to Lucas how much it would gnaw at him to have to disappoint the captain. Lucas thought of Bridger like a father, not a commanding officer. The teen genius probably wouldn’t understand failing him anyway. When was Lucas ever unable to figure out something important in his area of expertise? Never, that’s when.

            Sure, the teen made mistakes, but about other things, like girls. No man alive understood women and Lucas was just a kid. Maybe when he was older, he’d come up with an equation that explained them. Tim just hoped he wasn’t too old by the time Lucas figured out that particular mystery of the universe.

            Lucas patted him on the back and Tim thanked him for his time and help. It hadn’t really been a waste since time wasn’t very critical now and he had to tell Lucas eventually anyway.

            Tim walked back to his quarters. Inside, he knocked his forehead against the wall three times. He hit the computer key that ran all the Stormer clips in a loop. He let it run while he paced his small cabin. Rumble, scuffle, commotion, grunting, screaming, running, grunting, clanking. There was plenty of noise on the footage, just no _words_. Well, other than English calls for help. He caught sight of the alien and shuddered.

            Unlike the aliens whose ship had been preserved underwater for millennia and whose sand-based probes had explored _seaQuest_ , the Stormer was ugly and violent. Of course, they’d thought at the time the sand-probes were rather unfriendly because crewmembers kept disappearing when they activated their wrist controllers, but everyone had been completely unharmed, just transported onto their ship. The Stormer, however, had killed people and wounded several others.

            Tim hadn’t forgotten having Henderson torn from his grasp in that main­tenance shaft. Miguel and Dagwood had been among those wounded by it too. He wondered if he should bother asking permission to question them. None of them knew about the imminent abduction yet and anything they might remember would probably be tainted anyway. People didn’t generally try to memorize gibberish when they were being attacked by a monster.

            How horrible was it going to be to have live with a whole planetful of those monsters while ten years passed on Earth? _No, don’t think like that. Captain Bridger is not going to let it happen_. In fact, whether the captain was counting on him to learn the language or not, he wasn’t assuming negotiation would be successful. Otherwise, why did he have Ford and Brody spending untold hours down in the missile room? No one had dared asked why, of course, but everyone knew they’d been down there under the captain’s orders.

            It comforted Tim somewhat that while he might have to disappoint his captain for not being able to accomplish what he requested, at least it wasn’t _seaQuest_ ’s only hope.

            Tim realized he’d memorized the entire loop of audio and was now predicting screams and grunts the same way one predicts the next song on a well-used music playlist. He sat at his computer and randomized all the clips so the loop would still play everything, just not in the same sequence. He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, trying to absorb the sounds and make some sense of them. He fell asleep with the playback still on.

            He awoke to a tinny knock at his hatch. He bolted to a sitting position, chagrined he’d worn a uniform to bed. At least he wasn’t in his underwear. “Come in,” he called, rubbing his eyes.

            Captain Bridger stepped in.

            Not fully awake, Tim’s military training urged him to leap up and come to attention. He might have made it too, if not for the fact he’d knocked his glasses askew as soon as he recognized his visitor and now he fumbled to get them back on straight.

            The captain held up a staying hand and spoke softly. “These are your quarters, Tim. You don’t have to salute in your sleep.”

            Glasses finally on, he stood and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his uniform. A nervous chuckle escaped. “I wish someone had told that to the upper classmen my first year at the Academy.”

            Captain Bridger was distracted by the looping video clips running on the small computer screen, so Tim snuck a look at his watch. 0700. He was greatly relieved he hadn’t slept more than his allotted eight hours.

            “How’s it coming?” the captain asked as he turned his attention back to Tim.

            He would never lie, but he knew he needed to keep his frustration out of his reporting. “Unless the Hyberion language consists of nothing but grunts, I can’t find any words to translate, sir. Lucas looked too. We just don’t _have_ a language sample.”

            “Could the language _be_ the grunting?”

            Tim shrugged. “Anything is possible. I’m not sure how to go about differentiating grunts in a way to correspond to a language. For all we know, they communicate by odor and the grunts are just grunts.”

            “Odor? How would they communicate by odor?”

            “Lots of insects and other animals communicate with scent. But remember when the Stormer was hiding? Everyone was trying to find him with infrared and motion sensors. Dagwood followed his nose and found him before any of us.”

            The captain smirked. “That could be just normal body odor.”

            Tim nodded. “Yes, it could be. All I was trying to say is we have no idea whatsoever how they communicate. They may not _have_ a spoken language at all.”

            Bridger shook his head. “I can’t imagine Tobias blended in so well in our society if his species was _that_ different. No one ever suspected he was anything other than a brilliant human.”

            This was the captain’s way of saying Tim wasn’t off the hook. The communications officer tried not to let his disappointment show. “I’ll keep trying, sir.”

            “Fine, but take a break. Go swimming with Lucas and Darwin a while. They could use the company.”

            _Riiiiight._ The captain could pretend it was for Lucas’s benefit, but Tim knew better. He might have suggested Tony as a better option, but from what he’d overheard in the mess hall last night, Tony was pretty busy dodging the pranksters. The last time Tim had seen the new petty officer, he was running down the corridor on B-deck with bright pink hair, dripping wet, and yelling something about shampoo being sacred.

            Come to think of it, why should he try to get out of a break? Swimming actually sounded like a good idea right now. His mood perked a little. “Aye, sir. Thank you.”

            “You’re on bridge duty at zero nine hundred, and I’m holding a briefing at ten in the ward room. I do not expect any further progress by then, just your presence. Understood?”

            And that was the captain’s subtle way of ordering him not to work during the break he’d just mandated. _Am I that stubborn?_ Tim nodded. “Yes sir.”

            The captain left. Tim shut off the recordings and changed his clothes. He was going to change again when he got to the moon pool, but he didn’t want to be seen wearing a uniform he’d slept in. Besides, dirty, wrinkled uniforms held too many bad associations now. His tolerance for normal wearing, even without sleeping in them, had dropped considerably since their imprisonment. He didn’t care if he had to do laundry more often. If he’d had it on for more than a single shift, he changed if he could.

            He found Lucas swimming in the moon pool with Darwin. “Awfully early for you, isn’t it?” Tim asked when he was close enough he didn’t have to yell.

            “We gained twelve hours when we time traveled.” Lucas frowned. “Or is that lost twelve hours? Technically, we lost hundreds of years.”

            “Did you send the captain after me?”

            The look on his face answered before Lucas could direct his gaze away and put on his innocent mask. “Um… he asked about you. I told him I’d seen you, yes.”

            _Yeah, and you probably also mentioned how frustrated I was._ He didn’t want Lucas to lie for him, he just wished he, Tim, had shown more restraint when they talked so there wouldn’t _be_ anything negative to report. Still, he probably wouldn’t be getting a break if not for Lucas, so he couldn’t stay mad, even at himself. “Thanks.”

            The teen grinned and his whole face lit up. “No problem.” He threw a small ball at the basketball hoop and sunk it. “That’s Darwin and Lucas: one, Tim: zero. Best get in here and catch up.”

            “Hey, how come you get Darwin?” he said with mock-affront.

            “The early worm catches the fish. Or in this case, the marine mammal. I bribed him.” He wore that same sly grin he wore when he was hacking some high level computer system with the captain’s blessing.

            “Is the vocorder on?”

            “Of course.”

            “Hey Darwin,” Tim called. “Play for my side and I’ll double whatever Lucas is feeding you.” Not that it was necessary. Darwin always played both sides. He didn’t care about rules or winning. He just wanted to play.

            “Tim play?” the vocorder voice said.

            “That’s what I came here for. Be back in a sec.” Tim grabbed his wetsuit and shot into the dressing room.

            They played for a good hour. They swam hard and laughed even harder. Tim and Lucas kept score, but the only point was to track their own percentage of baskets versus attempts, of which Lucas was clearly better. Tim could barely see a blur where the basket was without his glasses. One of these days he was going to break down and buy some prescription goggles, but until then, he wasn’t going to risk breaking his glasses for Moon Pool Basketball. He was on his backup pair now, since he hadn’t replaced the ones he lost on the _Fifi_.

            Darwin racked up dozens of assists, which Lucas announced as if doing a running commentary on some Extreme Sports channel. The dolphin even tried to shoot for the basket a couple of times, but he hadn’t quite made it yet.

            “Good try, Darwin!” Lucas always told him.

            At length, Tim sighed and pointed to his watch. “Sorry guys, I gotta be on the bridge in thirty minutes.” He hauled himself up to sit on the edge of the moon pool.

            Lucas sighed too. “I gotta get out soon anyway. My hands are pruning up. Are you gonna be at the briefing?”

            “Ten hundred in the ward room?”

            Lucas nodded.

            “Yeah. You too?”

            “See you then.”

            Tim changed back into his uniform, glad he’d already switched to a clean one. He wouldn’t have to go back to his quarters but could grab a quick bite to eat instead. He joined Miguel and Tony’s table while he downed a spinach and mushroom omelet.

            “I thought you didn’t eat animal stuff,” Tony said around a large mouthful of waffles. His hair was still tinged pink, just not as pronounced.

            “What, this?” Tim pointed to his omelet. “You don’t think we get real eggs, do you?”

            “ _Someone_ gets ’em. I had a couple left in the toes of my shoes. Fake eggs don’t have shells.”

            Miguel and Tim both cringed at the thought. That had to have been one of Lucas’s pranks because Tony wouldn’t take his shoes off anywhere else, at least not without checking them before he put them back on. If Krieg had still been aboard, that would have been Tim’s first guess as to where Lucas got real eggs. As it was, he couldn’t imagine.

            Miguel shook his head, wearing a longing expression on his face. “If I find out who had real eggs and wasted them on your nasty feet, I’ll help you get them back. Man, what I wouldn’t give for some _real_ huevos rancheros.”

            “Guess I oughtta mention they din’t smell so good.”

            “Eww. Remind me not to eat with you again, Piccolo.” Miguel got up and left the table.

            Ah, so the prank had been real, but _rotten_ eggs. Had to have been Lucas. Tim wouldn’t tell Tony that, but surely he had to suspect. “Could have been worse,” Tim said. “Could have put rotten eggs in your shampoo.”

            “You did it, didn’t you?”

            “Me?” Tim laughed. “Tony, I don’t have _time_ to play practical jokes. But feel free to give me credit.” A prank like that could earn Tim some serious reputation points. He’d been the brunt of too many cruel jokes and too much harsh hazing to ever put pranking on his list of priorities, but he figured he could mastermind something like eggs in boots or dye in shampoo if the mood ever struck. Honestly, it all seemed rather childish. Even if you pulled off something epic, you couldn’t brag about it, or then you were in the crosshairs yourself. Payback never ended.

            Tim stood, ruffled Tony’s hair, and whispered, “Pink’s a nice shade for you.” He grabbed his tray and left, leaving Tony alone to draw his own conclusions.

            On the bridge, everyone was busy, checking and double-checking every system: primary, secondary, and tertiary. Anything that was the slightest bit out of regulation got flagged for attention.

            “Mr. O’Neill, status on communications?” the captain asked.

            “All systems running normally, as far as we know, sir.”

            “As far as you know?”

            “All internal diagnostics show no problems, but we can’t establish two-way communication outside the boat to test anything. Last long distance test was from here to the Mediterranean and there were no reported problems, even with the portable radios Chief Kendall took on _skyQuest_.”

            “Well, at least we know we can talk to each other. That’s something.”

            Tim almost opened his mouth to say it was highly unlikely anything had suddenly broken under non-combat conditions without showing up on internal diagnostics. But he caught himself before he wasted Captain Bridger’s time. The captain knew that as well as he did.

            “Review all emergency procedures with your team. I might have to send you somewhere else at a moment’s notice and I want anyone who takes that station to know it as well as you do.”

            “Aye, sir.” It had been over two months since their last drill and he doubted any of the non-coms who’d been trained in communications had bothered when they couldn’t even raise an emergency buoy to run a test ping. That was the point of drills—to practice when it didn’t matter, so everything came like second nature when things got dicey. If Tim could do it with his eyes closed (and he’d made sure he could, just in case he ever lost his glasses) then he’d make sure everyone else could too.

            As soon as the captain turned his attention to the sensor station, Tim used his PAL to discreetly notify his team and had them report to the crew lounge.

            Since the captain was busy listening to status reports, Tim told Commander Ford where he was going. The commander looked like he wanted to deny him permission to leave.

            Maybe he thought Tim should have done it later. Maybe he didn’t know about the special assignment. Tim took a deep breath before he spoke. The key to dealing with Ford was to stay cool and rational. “The captain said to review emergency procedures with my team. Would you rather I had them all come up to the bridge?” _Or do **you** want to explain why I’m standing around and not carrying out his orders?_

“Don’t be late for the briefing,” Ford said.

            “Aye, sir.” Tim would get them started so they could begin reviewing procedures while he was busy in the briefing. Then he’d check with them afterwards and take them up to the bridge for practice when they wouldn’t be distracting to others. If he knew Bridger and Ford, there would be drills later and he might be otherwise occupied. It sounded like the captain wanted it that way, so _everyone_ would be ready.

            Communications were critical in an emergency. Tim knew that. And it wasn’t just about telling the enemy he better surrender before they blew him out of the water. Whoever manned communications would broadcast shipwide calls to general quarters and battlestations. A panicked tone in that announcement could be disastrous for the entire boat.

            If they were going up against an alien spaceship, Tim figured someone better be sure the UEO and NASA heard about it. Major Allen had been pretty vague about the consequences of _seaQuest_ being hijacked, but Tim had a pretty good imagination. If one set of aliens marked Earth as an easy target, no telling how many others might start stealing submarines, aircraft carriers, or just vast numbers of individuals bound for slave labor. Maybe it was too late for _seaQuest_ , but her loss could still be valuable if it taught the right lessons.

            Ensuring Earth got the message was the responsibility of whoever sat in _seaQuest_ communications. Tim considered it his solemn duty. If he wasn’t doing it himself because the captain had something else he needed Tim to do, then Tim would be certain someone he trained _would_ carry out the obligation. Thus it was with a heavy sense of duty and a very low tolerance for distractions that he addressed his team.

            “Hey, Lieutenant, lighten up,” someone said when his back was turned. Tim was glad he didn’t see who because he was just microns away from writing him up.

            “No, I will _not_ lighten up,” Tim barked. “I am not at liberty to discuss why this is so important, but anyone who thinks emergency drills aren’t worth your undivided attention, please feel free to leave right now. I’ll see you get transferred,” _assuming we’re still on Earth_ “at the first opportunity.”

            That did the trick and Tim soon regretted having been so harsh. He didn’t often lose his temper with his shipmates, especially not those below his rank. Even as they now listened quietly, he debated himself whether to apologize. He decided against it, at least for the time being. Better they stay serious and focused even if they thought him sour. “I’ve got to attend a briefing. Quiz each other and be ready for anything. When I get done, we’ll go up to the bridge for practice.”

            He got a chorus of meek aye-sirs when he left. He had no doubt they’d talk about his ‘snit’ the minute he was gone. He didn’t care as long as it led to getting serious on the procedures.

            If Commander Ford was feeling anything like he was, he didn’t dare push his luck right now. Tim hurried to the ward room and arrived at 0957. Captain Bridger hadn’t arrived, but Lucas, Brody, and Ford were already there. Ford gave him a rather grim look, verifying he’d have been dead meat in another three minutes. However, his voice was cool and calm when he asked, “How is your team doing?”

            “They’re working on it. I recommend some live drills with me not present.”

            “Good, because you have duties in your quarters, Lieutenant,” the captain said as he swept into the room.

            Everyone stood and came to attention. Well, Lucas stood and kept his mouth shut, which was saying a lot for the outspoken teen.

            “Please be seated,” Bridger said. He seated himself at the head of a curved table, facing everyone else. “And lest anyone get the wrong idea, Mr. O’Neill is not _confined_ to quarters. I can’t have him working on the alien language in a public area until I’ve told the crew what’s going on.”

            Ford and Brody released what appeared to be held breaths. Evidently, they hadn’t been told what he’d been doing all this time. It was somewhat troubling they’d assumed he was being disciplined, but not too surprising considering where he’d been.

            “Lieutenant Brody,” the captain said. “I want you to find someone to take over your station as well. I may need you to lead a boarding party.”

            “Henderson?” Brody offered.

            “In _addition_ to Henderson. She’d probably go with you.”

            “Yes sir.”

            “I know everyone is supposed to know all the basics and I’m confident everyone does. But we’re headed into uncharted territory and I want people ready for beyond-the-basics.”

            Lucas blurted out, “Why don’t you just _tell_ them then? Tell them what we’re up against.”

            Captain Bridger sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Commander, what do you think? How much time do we give them to be properly prepared and mentally ready without overburdening and causing worry?”

            “Four hours?” Ford didn’t sound too confident with his answer.

            “Four hours before we go back to our own time or four hours before the attack?” Brody asked.

            “Major Allen said his best guess was twelve to twenty-four hours after we get there, but he didn’t know for sure. That means I need to tell them before we go through the Mobius Hole.”

            “Have you decided when that will be?” Commander Ford asked quietly.

            “Will more time here be of any benefit to learning the language?” Bridger encompassed both Lucas and Tim in his gaze.

            Lucas shook his head. “There’s nothing more I can dig up for him without Internex.”

            Tim swallowed and added, “All I have now is grunts and growls. I’ll listen to it as long as you want me to, Captain, but I can’t translate if I have no words.”

            The captain nodded, looking less disappointed than Tim expected him to be. He turned to Ford. “Commander, are you and Brody done with your operations in missile command?”

            “Yes, sir. All guidance and detonators checked and double-checked. All modifications we discussed carried out. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be as far as our weapons are concerned.”

            “Thank you, Commander. All right, this is the plan. First we get all our backup people on the bridge and have them watch while the most experienced run through level one, level two and level three bridge simulation drills.”

            Everyone’s eyes popped at the mention of level three sims. They were nightmare scenarios where you had major hull breaches, system failures, and lots of casualties.

            “Yes, level three,” the captain reiterated to all the surprised looks he was getting. “And if _we_ don’t get it right, I embarrass us all in front of the NCOs and enlisteds and do it again. I won’t ask them to try it until they’ve seen the officers do it successfully.”

            “Sounds fair,” Ford said. But his voice wasn’t very enthusiastic. Level three drills were specifically designed to deflate the cocky. At least half of the time, the sims declared the boat destroyed and all aboard dead.

            “After we show them how it’s done, we have them run the drills while we stand back and watch, this time making them shipwide. The whole boat needs the practice. When they have a reasonable success at a level three, we celebrate.”

            “Celebrate?” Ford asked incredulously.

            “Absolutely. We’ve had plenty of recent victories and a promotion and no time to celebrate. I’ve already alerted the cooks. They’re baking cake right now.”

            “So, you’re going to drop the ‘bomb’ in the middle of a party?” Lucas asked. He’d been careful not to use an accusatory tone. His presence at this meeting was highly irregular and a privilege he didn’t want to lose. He really was maturing.

            “No. We party and then we sleep it off. Then the bad news.”

            “And what do we do for the last four hours before we go home?” Brody asked.

            “We listen,” Captain Bridger said.

            The room waited in silence, all eyes on the captain.

            “Listen to _what_?” Tim finally asked after it became apparent the captain wasn’t going to offer more. Frankly, he’d had enough of listening.

            “We listen to their concerns. We see if they have any ideas we didn’t come up with. We make sure four hours is enough. And we take a final vote.”

            “A vote?” Ford asked. The look on his face implied he didn’t like it.

            “Yes, Jonathan, a vote. I am not going to ask one hundred and fifty some-odd people—more than half of them civilians—to go on a suicide mission without their consent.”

            “But what if they don’t want to?”

            “Then we stay in 1504 indefinitely.”

            “Here? You can’t be serious.”

            “Depending on the final tally, we might just leave some of them behind while we take _seaQuest_ back. But they have a right to choose sixteenth century life over a twenty-first century likelihood of death or alien kidnapping.”

            The commander scowled. He knew the captain had a point, even if he didn’t like it. He kept his opinions to himself.

            “Any more questions?”

            Everyone shook their heads in silence.

            “Bridge simulation drills start at 1300. Dismissed.”

            Tim waited until Ford and Brody left. Lucas held back, probably wanting the same thing he did—a moment with the captain. But Tim didn’t care if Lucas heard, so he spoke first. “Do you still want me to work on the language problem, sir?”

            Bridger shook his head. “Not until we get you some decent samples. The second we get back to 2022, I want that to be your top priority. Yours too, Lucas. This is not abandoning the project. This is postpon­ing.”

            “Aye, sir.” Although his relief was great, Tim tried not to smile. He would probably still end up disappointing the captain in this, but he felt his chances were slightly better now. He glanced at Lucas and whispered, “You coming?”

            “Naw. I’ll catch up.”

            Tim nodded and took off, leaving Lucas and the captain alone.


	49. Chapter 49

            Nathan had been pleased with his officers’ execution of the level one and level two drills. He’d put his people up against any navy in the world, any time. Level three was another matter. Within thirty seconds, both he and Jonathan were declared unconscious or dead. Brody took over and although he did everything by the book, _seaQuest_ suffered major losses in both personnel and hull integrity. While the final score was a barely passing 77, it didn’t sit very well with anyone. Nathan was tempted to let the first-stringers have another go, but he decided it would probably put less pressure on the second-stringers if they didn’t have to follow a perfect act.

            The captain cleared his throat. “All right, so you see it’s not always a pretty picture. Sometimes reality bites us on the butt. I’d rather be declared dead in a simulation twenty times than have to see it for real. Everyone switch places and let’s do it again, from the top.” All his first-stringers, including Lucas, Ortiz, and Henderson, vacated their stations to the less experienced. Nathan left the captain’s chair and beckoned MacDonald with a curled finger. “Chief Kendall would be sitting here before you would, but I want him in Engineering right now. He had enough faith in you to leave you in charge for real, so this shouldn’t be all that different.” _At least for the first drill_.

            MacDonald took a deep breath and nodded, but Nathan could tell the poor warrant officer wasn’t comfortable. An awful lot of people would have to be hurt before he’d ever really be in command in a dangerous situation, but Major Allen had said two-thirds of the crew never made it back from Hyberion. That meant a lot of people _did_ die in another reality—a reality Nathan was determined to change. He’d put Piccolo in command if he thought it would save a single life.

            “Mr. Benson,” Nathan said to the man now sitting at the communications station, “put me on shipwide.”

            “Aye, sir.” A deft flick of his fingers activated the speakers throughout the boat and the green indicator light on the command panel confirmed he was live.

            “Attention. This is the captain. We’ve all had a nice cruise here in the Black Sea, but we’ll soon be headed home. Before we go, I want us all to brush up a bit. We’re going to run drills and you’re going to hear unfamiliar voices giving orders. There’s a good reason for all this, which I will explain tomorrow, that is, assuming you’ve all shown me you’re ready. Mr. MacDonald will be in command. Treat him as you would me.”

             Nathan gave Benson the nod to shut off the mic. He nodded and toggled the switch back. The green light blinked off. Nathan turned to CPO Dietrich, who sat in Ford’s seat. “Level one drill, all sections.”

            “Aye, sir.” He clicked on the keyboard, then let his finger hover over the button. “On your order.”

            Nathan stepped out of the way, joining his officers, then he nodded back. “Now.”

            The simulation was an easy one: answering a distress call while having to notify surface vessels of their intent. It was hardly even worthy of the second-stringers’ time, except it did give the rescue crews some practice. The computer reported a score of 98, with two points being lost because Dietrich initially transposed some digits when he read the coordinates off his computer screen. He corrected the mistake immediately, but it cost them a perfect score. Still, it was a good first run. All the onlookers applauded and cheered for them. Nathan allowed a few moments to savor their little victory.

            “All right, people. You keep up scores like that and you may put the officers out of business. Level two, Mr. MacDonald.”

            The level two drill went almost as well, with only a few mistakes, none which would have caused death or injury. The score was 82. After the polite applause, Nathan addressed them. “Not bad. Not bad at all. Set her up for level three.”

            “Level three, aye, Captain,” MacDonald said, nodding at Dietrich to push the buttons.

            In the first ten seconds, lights went out. MacDonald called for emergency backups, but the light given off was very low intensity, which should have been a warning sign. Dietrich had so many incoming reports of problems all over the boat, he couldn’t make sense of it. The woman at sensors was watching Mother so closely that Loner and Junior collided. Nathan saw Ortiz cover both eyes with his hand.

            The captain leaned in to whisper, “It’s just a simulation, Miguel.” Of course, the sensor chief already knew that or he would have shouted something before it happened. Miguel also knew Nathan was just ribbing him for his almost fatherly affection for the WSKRS. In truth, he had no problem with the sensor chief’s protective attitude toward the tools of his trade. He’d never hesitated to sacrifice them when the situation called for it.

            After the virtual WSKRS collided, the situation spiraled downhill even faster. Nathan left the sidelines and hit the button to pause the simulation. The computer gave a 46 for the portion completed, but it would be a zero if they didn’t finish it. Shipwide speakers intoned a mechanical computer voice droning, “Simulation paused,” every fifteen seconds.

            The captain turned on some lights and looked around at the various stations. No one said a word, but they avoided meeting his eyes. _Where did he start?_ Nathan summoned his calmest voice. “Everyone take a breath.” He turned to the onlookers. “Department heads, please go coach your teams individually. Cover where they went wrong and what to do about it.”

            The first-stringers stepped in and started quiet discussions at each station. Nathan took MacDonald under his wing and explained what he suspected about the dim lights and how he needed to prioritize the information he asked for. This was the hardest part of command and it was almost impossible to learn from books or a classroom. A large dose of experience and a dash of intuition were called for and he couldn’t impart either one.

            He just hoped they would never need to use their alternates in the upcoming crisis. The master plan relied heavily on both he and Jonathan staying alive. Yet, even if these non-coms never stepped into positions of leadership, the drills helped them understand the complexities so they had more respect and trust for the people who led. They tended to obey orders all the quicker and that was almost as valuable as being prepared to take over.

            As soon as the teaching whispers died down, Nathan motioned the coaches back to the sidelines, then he nodded to Dietrich. “Resume the simulation.”

            The lights returned to their dim emergency state and the grim reports came gushing through again. A few of the mistakes were reversed, and they were able to save _seaQuest_ , but casualties were high and the final score was 52.

            When the lights came up, Nathan stood in the center of the bridge. “That, my friends, is why we practice.” He could see from their faces they felt terrible, as well anyone would. Perhaps a little illumination was in order. He found his chief computer analyst on the sidelines. “Lucas, what would you say are the chances of that particular malfunction?”

            Lucas cleared his throat and raised his voice enough for everyone to hear. “You mean the one that started the whole cascade? Probably ten thousand-to-one. If it ever happened for real, I’d be looking for a saboteur.”

            This brought gasps and murmurs from the second-stringers, and then their faces brightened a little. Inhabitants of a submarine lived in very close quarters and they knew each other pretty well. Sure, it was _possible_ a suicidal betrayer lived among them, but a lot of other dangers worried them more.

            “All right, let’s do another level three, people. This time, I won’t pause it. There is no ‘pause’ in real life. Dietrich?” The captain ducked back to the sidelines while Dietrich reset the computer.

            “Ready.”

            “Do it.”

            The new nightmare was more troubling to Nathan than the last one, since he had known all along that the other one was highly unlikely. Yet, as he watched, he could find no fault with the way anyone reacted this time. MacDonald was doing exactly what he, Nathan, would. They ended up destroying three attacking submarines and taking extensive damage. The casualties were even higher than the last drill, but because they’d been in what was probably considered a hopeless situation, the fact they saved _seaQuest_ and almost half of the crew counted for a lot.

            Everyone was still in shock because of the reported casualties, but the onlookers cheered when the score of 78 was announced. Even Nathan smiled. They’d beaten his officers’ score and on only the second try. He hurried forward to shake MacDonald’s hand. “I couldn’t have done any better myself,” he admitted in a whisper.

            He moved back to the center of the bridge. “Put me on shipwide,” he ordered.

            “Aye, sir.” Benson flipped the switch and nodded.

            “Despite the grim statistics on that last drill, you have all done very well. I have one more drill I want us all to do. We’re going to do a live evacuation. That means everyone not only reports to their evac stations, but we all get in the shuttles and we actually launch them. Our chief computer analyst has programmed the scenario himself. Good luck, everyone.” He motioned for the com cut off and Benson complied. Addressing only the bridge, he continued, “For this one, I want everyone in their regular posts. Lucas, is the simulation ready?” He was going to be awfully embarrassed if he hadn’t done it, but Nathan wasn’t going to treat him like a child anymore.

            “Yes, sir.” Lucas flashed a grin.

            Nathan didn’t give any outward sign he’d noticed Lucas calling him ‘sir’. It wasn’t the first time, but for some reason, it sounded more deliberate. When their eyes met, he could see Lucas knew it had been a test. He not only knew, but he savored passing it. He filed that tidbit of information away to think about later. “Everyone whose regular post is not on the bridge is dismissed.”

            MacDonald, Benson, Dietrich, and the rest of the second-stringers jogged off, high-fiving each other on the way.

            When the clam doors shut, he addressed the bridge again. “All right people, I don’t know about you, but I’d like to think I can do better than a warrant officer.” This induced chuckles, which had been his intention. “I’m grading this next drill myself and I want to see at least a 95.” He could see from their nods and determined faces they were just as anxious to show up the competition. “Lucas, explain how it works.”

            “Captain Bridger wanted us to do the evacuation as real as possible, so all the instrument readings we see will be real. If your depth indicators say we are too deep to launch shuttles, you have to take that into consideration. Oh, and don’t be surprised if ballast control is non-operational while the simulation is running.”

            To this odd bit of information, the non-coms and enlisted personnel frowned and gave each other incredulous looks. But when they noticed the grim, unquestioning nods of the officers, they quieted.

            Since they might end up on the surface, Nathan turned to the sensor station. “Mr. Ortiz, will you please verify there are no vessels in the vicinity.”

            Miguel checked all his panels. Three WSKRS and all of _seaQuest_ ’s instruments gave him plenty of data. “Closest vessel is two hundred thirty-five kilometers west of us, sir.”

            “Very well. Let’s show them how it’s done.” Nathan nodded to Lucas.

            Lucas typed on his keyboard and then looked up. “All set, but it has to be initiated by either you or Commander Ford.”

            Nathan inclined his head to Jonathan. “Commander, if you would please.”

            “Aye, sir.” Ford pressed the button.

            “Captain, we’re rising,” Henderson reported within seconds. “Diving officer has no explanation.”

            “Twenty degree down angle on all planes,” Nathan called.

            “Maximum angle already attempted. No effect,” Brody reported.

            “Flood all ballasts.”

            “Ballasts already full, Captain. Something is pulling us up,” Ford said.

            “Mr. Ortiz, get me WSKRS view.”

            “Aye, sir.” Miguel checked all his WSKRS with wide eyes. Nathan tried to pretend he didn’t know what he was going to see, but he’d told Lucas what to program. Miguel made a choice and pressed a button. “On forward viewscreen.”

            The readout signature said it was transmitting from Junior, but the image was both realistic and impossible. Gasps sprung up around the deck. Commander Ford voiced what had to be the overwhelming question on everyone’s minds. “What _is_ that?”

            “Based on the fact it’s pulling us up,” Lucas said matter-of-factly, “I’d say it was some sort of tractor beam.” He sounded very natural, as if he really was just speculating.

            “But what’s on the other end?” Brody asked.

            “There are _no_ vessels on the surface, sir. Whatever it is, it’s in the sky,” Ortiz said.

            “Mr. O’Neill, see if you can make contact with whatever’s controlling that… thing,” Nathan ordered, still keeping his voice calm.

            A hurried, “Aye, sir,” and a lot of typing and button-pressing followed. O’Neill spoke a quiet hail into his headset mic, pressed his fingers against his earpiece, flicked more switches and spoke again.

            While he was trying, Nathan snuck a look around. Most everyone else was staring at the impossible view on the screen. He had to admit it was compelling; Lucas had made it look so real. Nathan only hoped everyone was satisfying their morbid curiosity now.

            “No answer, Captain. I’ve tried every frequency and every channel,” O’Neill reported.

            “What’s our depth and rate of ascent?” Nathan asked.

            Henderson reported, “8,412 meters. Climbing at a rate of ten meters per second.”

            _Six hundred meters per minute_. Nathan hoped he’d have more time when it counted, but he’d rather be prepared for the worst.

            “That’s impossible,” Ford said, sounding exactly how Nathan would expect. He, too, was acting for the benefit of others.

            “Can you get me any data that proves otherwise, Commander?” Nathan asked in a tone to match the situation.

            Jonathan shook his head. “No, sir.”

            “Mr. O’Neill, sound battlestations.”

            The shipwide speakers echoed in the lieutenant’s calm yet commanding timbre: “Battlestations. All hands to battlestations. Repeat: all hands to battlestations.” Warning lights flashed and he could feel the vibrations from the crew running all over the boat.

            As soon as Tim had finished his announcement, Nathan directed another order to him. “Get me UEO headquarters, Mr. O’Neill.”

            “Aye, sir.” He typed and flipped switches. He started out at his usual competent speed but soon the clicks became almost frantic. “Captain, I can’t get any outside communication at all. We’re being jammed.”

            “Can we fire a torpedo straight up?” he asked the weapons officer rhetorically.

            “Negative, Captain. Even if we could get angle control and stand _seaQuest_ straight up, all our torpedoes are designed for travel through water only. The props would fizzle out like sputtering fans once they hit air.”

            He acknowledged the information with a nod. “Mr. O’Neill, whether they’ve answered us or not, I’m going to assume they’re monitoring our transmissions. Open all frequencies and tell our attackers if they don’t release us immediately, we will fire missiles on them.”

            A curt nod from his communications officer and then he raised his voice and added just a smidgen of menace to his tone. “Attention unknown aircraft: this is the United Earth Oceans Organization Deep Submergence Vehicle _seaQuest_. You are advised to release us immediately or we will be forced to fire missiles.”

            The whole bridge crew waited, holding a collective breath, all eyes glued to O’Neill.

            _How long should we wait when this is real?_ Nathan wondered. If Tim could send this message in the Hyberion language, he’d feel a whole lot better.

            Finally, Tim shook his head. “No response, sir.”

            “All right, let’s try something conventional. Fire a Cheetah 260, destination: straight above us.”

            “Distance, Captain?” the weapons officer asked.

            “Can we get a fix on it?”

            Ford answered, “Negative. It’s out of range of our sensors.”

            “Well, let’s hope it’s not out of range of our missiles. Program the Cheetah to detonate on impact. Fire when ready.”

            Three clicks of the keyboard and then, “Cheetah away.”

            “Do we have tracking on her?”

            “Yes, sir, guidance and tracking are functioning normally.”

            “Keep an eye on it. I want to know the exact altitude when it detonates.” He turned to Henderson. “What’s our depth now?”

            “6,085 meters and rising steadily, Captain.”

            “Everyone be prepared to go to full speed. I don’t want to be underneath it if it falls.” He realized belatedly that he should have said ‘ _when_ it falls’. He only knew it wouldn’t this time because he told Lucas to program a worst-case sim that involved evacuation. He wasn’t even sure what he should hope for in the way of altitude. If the mothership was high enough, any explosion, nuclear or otherwise, would be less dangerous to the planet. But too high would mean a missile could run out of fuel before it hit. No terrestrial target was ever more than 20,000 km. away, so none of their missiles would ever go further than that.

            “Detonation at 5,700 meters, Captain.”

            Everyone cheered but Nathan had little tolerance right now. “Why aren’t we moving away?” he barked. The chatter died quickly.

            “It appears our weapons had no effect. We’re still being pulled up, sir,” Henderson said. After a two-second hesitation, she added, “And now we’re moving twice as fast.”

            “We pissed them off,” Brody remarked.

            Nathan cursed under his breath. He’d told Lucas to make it difficult, not impossible. He drew a deep breath. “Lucas, Commander Ford and I are going to need to borrow the _Stinger_.”

            “It’s fueled and ready, Captain,” Lucas answered evenly.

            “Commander, you’re with me; everyone else, abandon ship. Now.”

            Everyone knew this was a live evacuation, so they all moved quickly toward the clamshell doors. O’Neill relayed the ‘abandon ship’ announcement over the speakers. Nathan caught Brody by the arm. “Lieutenant, you are to see everyone gets evacuated. You and O’Neill will be on the last launch. Take a vid-camera and surface as soon as possible. It’s your job to document what happens and get it to the UEO.”

            He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

            Nathan extended his hand. He knew this was just a drill, but he would do the same when this time came, if it got this far. “Take care, Jim.”

            “You too. Good luck, Captain, Commander.”

            Jonathan was scanning computer readouts, but he stopped long enough to wave goodbye. O’Neill looked up from his station. “All check-in stations except bridge report 100% compliance.”

            “Good. Give the launch command and then get out of here.”

            He nodded and then spoke into his mic: “All evacuation vessels cleared to launch.” Tim pulled his headset off as he stood.

            Nathan leaned in to O’Neill and whispered, “If it ever comes down to a real evacuation, I don’t think Lucas will leave so willingly. I expect you to make sure he gets on a launch.”

            Tim nodded solemnly. “Aye, sir. Good luck.”

            “Thanks, we’ll need it.” He clapped Tim on the back to shoo him out. There wouldn’t be time for long goodbyes when this all went down for real. He didn’t want to set a precedent in simulation.

            When O’Neill and Brody left, Ford gave him a dirty look. “What happened to ‘let’s tell them after the party’?”

            “It’s just a drill. They got some good practice and they can all shrug it off as Lucas’s crazy imagination. They’ll sleep better than we will tonight.”

            Jonathan shrugged. “So how long do you think it will take us to do what we need to at this point?”

            “All depends on how fast _seaQuest_ is being sucked up and how deep we are when they grab us. And if the alien ship is as low as Lucas made it out to be, and we’re close to a populated landmass, we’re going to have to modify the plan.”

            “You didn’t answer the question, sir.”

            Nathan quirked a brow. Jonathan was right. The question wasn’t how much time did he think they might have available to them, but what was the minimum necessary. “Want to time it?” He reached inside his shirt and pulled out his nuclear arming key, lifting the chain over his head.

            Ford just laughed. “Oh, what the hell. It takes what it takes.” He pulled out his key and locked eyes with Nathan.

            “I don’t think Lucas planned the simulation to override our keys, so we’ll have to fake it for now.”

            He nodded and placed his key within a quarter-inch of the keyhole.

            Nathan did likewise. “I say, ‘on my mark’ and then ‘mark’.”

            “We both turn at the same time,” Jonathan said. Both their wrists turned simultaneously.

            “The computer asks for voice confirmation,” Nathan reviewed.

            “And I give mine first. Commander Jonathan Devin Ford, service number blah, blah, blah.”

            “And then I give mine. Captain Nathan Hale Bridger, service number etcetera.”

            “And then it asks for our launch codes.”

            “And if I tell you mine now, we just have to change them.”

            Jonathan nodded. “Six digits, two letters, oddball codeword.”

            Nathan suppressed the urge to laugh. “I think mine is codeword, four digits, one letter, another codeword.”

            The commander’s eyeballs popped. “Think?”

            “Relax, Jonathan. I won’t blow your chance to make history.”

            “I am _not_ looking forward to this, sir.”

            “Good. Neither am I. We do what is necessary.”

            “And then we book it to the _Stinger_ , right?”

            “Yes, and we better do it now so no one thinks we’re planning to go down—er, up—with her and wastes time later trying to talk us out of it.” Although his key would stay once the launch was confirmed, right now, he took it back and replaced the chain around his neck.

            Jonathan mirrored his movements and swept his hand out. “After you, Captain.”

            Nathan might be able to outswim his executive officer, but he knew the younger man could easily outrun him. And since the goal was to stay together, he accepted the frontrunner position and took off toward the mag-lev. Less than three minutes later, they were both in the _Stinger_ and shooting out into the open sea.

            “Yeee haw!” Ford cheered from the backseat.

            Nathan checked the depth. They were closer to the surface than he expected, but that was all the better. “Let’s go make sure Brody brought his camera.”

            “Don’t tell me we have to do this again if he forgot.”

            “No, but he’s not getting any cake.”

            Ford laughed. “You really know how to hurt a guy.”

            Nathan used the radio to ascertain which of the sonar blips was the bridge launch, and then turned the _Stinger_ to go meet it. Not only did Brody not forget the camera, but he had surfaced as ordered and used it to get a spectacular shot of _seaQuest_ breaching on autopilot.

            “Good work, Lieutenant.” Nathan couldn’t say more in front of the shuttle’s other occupants. They probably just thought the footage was a quaint souvenir of a crazy drill they held in the sixteenth century Black Sea. And come to think of it, they were right.

            “Did we make 95, sir?”

            “Absolutely. I’d call it a 97.”

            Brody mock-pouted. “Why’d we lose three points?”

            “Premature celebration.”

            Brody nodded but Ortiz called out, “Permission to celebrate _now_ , sir?”

            Nathan smiled. “Permission granted. Let the party begin.”


	50. Chapter 50

            It was the wildest Welcome Back/ Promotion/ Bon Voyage party Lucas had ever attended. Of course, the last wild party he attended had been broken up by security guards, though arguably not for being wild so much as for being an unauthorized use of the Sanger Institute. However, even on a dry boat such as _seaQuest_ , the crew knew how to have a good time.

            Scuttlebutt had it Acting Captain Darwin had ordered the crew to net a school or two of fish back when it looked like they might never get home. Fish had been on the menu ever since. Tonight, after they’d been assured they could soon resupply, the cooks had gone all-out and whipped up plenty of culinary goodies.

            Someone from marine archeology had obtained a large cache of meat in a Turkish trade when Chief Kendall sent them to find building materials for _skyQuest_. Since the scientist and street peddler haggled with gestures, he wasn’t sure what kind of meat it was, but his best guess was goat. He’d bartered for it specifically for the bridge crew’s welcome back and saved it in the freezer. Even though someone had scanned it for bacteria and it had been well-cooked, Lucas didn’t think it looked all that appetizing. He left his share for the older crewmembers who were positively drooling in anticipation of eating real meat.

            Lucas gorged instead on what little junk food was left onboard. Most of the packaged variety had been in his and Tony’s quarters and Tony had only had a chance to eat a little of it before he’d been sent to chaperone Darwin in the day trip that turned into an epic search-and-rescue. Lucas contributed what was left of his stash to the party, but he was now making sure he helped polish it off. While the older carnivores were gobbling goat, he was scarfing almost-stale cheese puffs, super-sweetened cola, and numerous pieces of cake.

            Half the crew ribbed him about the “outrageous” simulation drill he’d programmed. Most of them appreciated his imaginative departure from the usual dull scenarios the Navy concocted. Lucas found it hard to discuss the subject without revealing just how _un_ -imaginative he’d really been. But divulging what they knew about the future was the captain’s job, and not one Lucas envied. He’d be relieved when he didn’t have to keep the secret from Miguel and Tony anymore. Not that they ever pressed him for classified information. Miguel had always been cool about that kind of stuff. Tony might have been more curious if he hadn’t been so distracted watching his back everywhere he went. They’d only been home three days and he’d had at least a dozen practical jokes pulled on him.

            The crew lounge was full to capacity and the party spilled into the corridors. Food, music, and laughter flowed freely. Everyone was enjoying themselves. The captain made an appearance and stayed for a couple of hours before he claimed fatigue and excused himself. Tim also left pretty early. Lucas wondered whether he was planning to go back to his quarters to subject himself to more of those Stormer recordings. Seriously, the guy was borderline masochistic, trying to divine meaning from savage grunts. Then again, maybe Tim was simply grossed out from the goat carcass sitting in the middle of the buffet table, picked to the bone by sailors who’d been living for two months on nothing but fish and powdered eggs.

            Hyped on caffeine and sugar, Lucas determined to stay long enough to be sure Tony didn’t fall asleep in the lounge. Someone might superglue his butt to a bench and draw cute designs all over his naked torso. And while it would definitely be hilarious, Lucas knew after he took pictures (which would mysteriously appear on the Internex) he’d be the one who had to beg the female crewmen for nail polish remover to unstick his roomie. He already looked rather sticky because of the meringue pie someone had pushed into his face.

            When the festivities appeared to be dying down, everyone left pretty much at once. He and Tony were the only ones willing to help Dagwood clean up the mess. They got everything perishable back to the galley. Lucas wiped off tables while Tony gathered trash. Dagwood said thanks and assured them he could handle mopping and returning furniture to normal configuration by himself. Lucas had never asked Dagwood, but he suspected the GELF didn’t sleep as much as humans did.

            On their way back to their quarters, Lucas knocked very lightly on the captain’s hatch. He didn’t want to wake “Mr. Sleepyhead” if he’d really gone to bed.

            “Come in,” Captain Bridger called. He didn’t sound like he’d been asleep.

            Lucas opened the door a foot and stuck his head in. “I just thought you might like to know when the party ended. Everyone’s gone to bed except Dagwood.”

            “Did Piccolo live through the night?” he asked jokingly.

            “You bet, Cap,” Tony said from the hall. Lucas decided not to open the door further. Tony was conscious and sober, but beyond that, not fit for the captain’s eyes.

            The captain consulted his watch. It was 0042. “Good. I’ll expect you both at the mandatory meeting at 1100 hours.”

            “We’ll be there,” Lucas said. “Good night, Captain.”

            “Thanks for the information, Lucas. Good night.”

            Lucas tried not to think about how much he missed sleeping in that tiny pull-down berth on _skyQuest_. After all the caffeine he’d downed, he wasn’t going to get to sleep anytime soon while Tony, he suspected, would be out almost as fast as his head hit the pillow. He hated being awake alone, but he wasn’t much happier going to sleep. The nightmares weren’t as frequent, but they were often very vivid. He didn’t wake up screaming anymore, but he _did_ wake up in a cold sweat with no desire to go back to sleep. So much had happened, it sometimes felt like it had been six months ago, but it had really only been a few weeks since they’d left that madman’s theater of horrors.

            Sticky around the hairline and still in his clothes, Tony passed out on the lower bunk. Lucas pulled off all but his t-shirt and boxers, then climbed up to the top bunk. Darwin swam by in the aquatube and Lucas scrambled to find the vocorder receiver he knew was somewhere on his bed.

            “Party done?” the vocorder voice asked.

            “How’d you know it was a party?”

            “People loud. Play. Eat good food.”

            “Well, you probably wouldn’t have liked it. No fish tonight.”

            “Darwin like play.”

            “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Lucas said with a heavy note of sarcasm. “We might be going home tomorrow. Then you can swim in the ocean, get some sunlight, and hunt again.”

            “Lucas swim with Darwin?”

            How did you tell a dolphin, ‘only if I’m not being abducted by aliens’? “Um, when Captain Bridger says it’s okay. I have to work, you know.”

            Darwin dipped his beak once in a dolphin nod and then swam off toward the moon pool. Lucas said “Goodbye” to his rapidly disappearing flukes. Dolphins didn’t practice courtesies like saying goodbye before they just turned and left. Maybe Lucas would try to teach him a few human manners.

            The teen shut off the lights and snuggled under the covers. Tony started snoring. Lucas sighed and closed his eyes. Even with the snoring, it was still good to be back in his own bed. Fatigue overtook caffeine and the teen slept.

            In the morning, he got up, showered, and returned to his quarters to find Tony still asleep. Lucas checked his diving watch. Besides a bathrobe, it was the only thing he had on. 1030. Letting Tony sleep now would not have been a good prank. Lucas leaned down and called, “Tony!” but it didn’t even begin to rouse him. Lucas poked him, but that only made Tony bat at the air as if at some annoying bug. Finally, he grabbed Tony’s wrist and pulled him off the bed and onto the floor.

            “Wha’?” Tony cried. He had a bewildered and almost hurt look on his face, like this had been the cruelest joke anyone had ever played on him.

            “What? You have a briefing in thirty minutes and there are lines for the showers. You can’t show up with meringue in your hair, _Petty Officer_.”

            Tony shook himself vigorously. The blood must have finally reached his brain because he had the presence of mind to realize his roomie had done him a favor. “Yeah, thanks, Luke,” he moaned groggily as he grabbed a towel and headed out of the room.

            The teen waved it off and set about finding clean clothes.

            Somehow, they both managed to arrive on time to the meeting. The captain made all the department heads count noses and when a couple of science people were discovered missing, he sent someone to drag them out of bed. None of the military personnel had been stupid enough to skip a mandatory meeting. It turned out the science guys intended to be there, but were just late. So at least they didn’t have to wait long. Captain Bridger wasn’t going to do this twice.

            The captain stood on a little stepstool so everyone could see him. “Assuming the majority still want to go after what I’m about to tell you, we’ll be taking _seaQuest_ home in approximately four hours.”

            Everyone cheered heartily and he didn’t attempt to stop them. He stood there and simply waited, no sign of impatience on his face. Lucas, Tim, Brody, and Ford led by example in quieting down and giving the captain attention. People caught on quickly and elbowed the less astute into hushing. Lucas marveled at how the captain had absolute silence and rapt attention without even having to ask.

            “We were brought to this time and place by a madman who took the entire bridge crew prisoner. Under the command of Acting Captain Darwin and his Executive Officer, Chief Kendall, we were rescued from that madman. The Mobius Hole device was accidentally activated after our rescue. Without warning, the _skyQuest_ and _MR-3_ traveled to 2165. We were there for several weeks even though only a few hours passed here. In those few weeks, we were able to receive medical attention and recover from our extensive injuries. While we were there, one of the Temporal Guardians revealed something to me about what his history recorded as our future.”

            He paused to inhale deeply. Even knowing what the captain was going to say, Lucas still cringed inwardly. He didn’t doubt Major Allen had told the truth. Lucas believed it wholeheartedly. It was just so utterly… absurd. Advanced aliens, probably centuries ahead of anyone on Earth, travel billions of miles across the galaxy to snatch a submarine. It was like Lindbergh crossing the Atlantic to steal a bicycle.

            “Major Edward Allen told me these things at great personal risk. I also have physical evidence and corroboration from our own Dr. Smith. I’m not going to debate anyone on whether or not he told me the truth. Everyone is free to believe what he or she wishes on the matter. I believe him and I intend to act on that belief. However, since my actions would affect every single person here, I feel you have a right to know, provide input, and make your own decisions accordingly. You are not just cargo. I value each and every life onboard.”

            He swallowed and took another deep breath. “Aliens will attempt to steal _seaQuest_ and take her from Earth within 24 hours of the time we’re slated to reappear out of the Mobius Hole.”

            Heavy gasps and murmurs sprung up. Some stared at Lucas with accusing glances. Captain Bridger didn’t pause long. “In the original history, Commander Scott Keller was used to set a trap for us—one I fell for. I refuse to repeat that mistake. The aliens who stole _seaQuest_ kept her for ten years of Earth time and only one third of the people aboard survived to return with her. They didn’t age a day in that time, nor do they remember what happened.

            “Lucas used what we know about the hijacking to program the evacuation drill we did yesterday. However, much of it was speculation. If we return to our own time, my top priority is not falling into their trap at all. If we can’t avoid the thieves, my next concern is ensuring no one is aboard _seaQuest_ when they steal her. I believe we proved yesterday evacuation is both feasible and achievable.

            “We don’t know what these aliens can do or what they really want. It is possible they will still go after the launches that escape. We don’t know if they use mechanical force or some other technology we’ve never dreamed of. They might suck up a cubic kilometer of the surrounding ocean with _seaQuest_ to make sure they get everyone. We just don’t know.

            “The Mobius Hole Initiator is only good for one trip and we have no control over our arrival time. We may, however, refuse to activate the device. We can stay here in the Black Sea in 1504 in­definitely. We could survive here quite comfortably. The danger at home is very real and I won’t gloss it over. Major Allen also believes _seaQuest_ ’s absence for those ten years did critical damage to our history. The UEO collapsed.

            “Those of you in the military didn’t bargain for this kind of madness when you were recruited, therefore, I won’t order anyone to join us. The officers have agreed to stay with _seaQuest_. Now it’s up to all of you to decide whether _seaQuest_ stays or goes. She goes with the majority. If a minority want to stay here, we’ll drop you off at any Black Sea port you desire. If we have enough experienced sailors who want to stay, I’ll leave _skyQuest_ with you. However, if you stay here, there is no changing your mind later. Anyone seriously considering staying should have a chat with Dr. Smith about what you can expect if you become ill or injured. Even if we left all the medicine currently aboard, it wouldn’t last forever.”

            The captain stopped speaking. No one spoke into the deafening silence for what seemed eternity. “I welcome discussion about options and strategies. We’ll take a blind-ballot vote in two hours and depending on the outcome, we’ll go from there. Any questions?”

            A diminutive yet mature female scientist asked meekly, “If the majority want to stay here, what would we _do_?”

            “I have no idea. You could continue to study the Black Sea—lots of species here that don’t live in the oceans back home. There are more shipwrecks to explore, many of them very well preserved by the anaerobic deep waters.”

            “But who would we share our findings with?”

            “Who indeed. I can’t answer that question and I’m not sure I care to. I feel strongly Major Allen told us about this attack so we could return to our own time and fix history for the good of our families and the whole planet. I sincerely hope most of you care enough to go back with me and make that difference.”

            Lucas smiled, hiding it behind a contemplative hand held just under his nose. Giving these people a vote was an easy bet. _Chat with the doctor about deplorable medical conditions. Wrack up data but have nowhere to publish it. Stay here and be safe while you let the rest of the world go down the toilet._ Anyone who would consider it would look like a selfish moron.

            Lucas didn’t see the male who asked, “You said the aliens were supposed to attack within 24 hours. Can we get off _seaQuest_ before then?”

            This question appeared to have surprised the captain. His head wavered side to side. “You mean go back home but then ditch _seaQuest_ when we get there? I suppose the civilians could, assuming it was safe. There’s no guarantee we have a full 24 hours. There may not be any time at all. I am not above running away, or in this case, diving as deep as we possibly can. If we’re too deep, then no shuttles can launch.

            “Once we get back to our own time, everyone in the Navy is back under UEO rules and no, you can’t desert your post without penalty. For you, the only choice is stay in 1504 and be classified ‘lost at sea’ or take your chances with _seaQuest_ until you’re ordered to abandon ship.”

            Lucas had a hunch anyone who used _seaQuest_ to get home, but then ran off before Captain Bridger even tried to deal with the threat would never be allowed back aboard. Actually, the teen’s biggest worry was the captain would force _him_ to follow this very path because it was safer. He tried not to think about it.

            “All right, is that it?” The captain surveyed the crowd. “Good. Ballot box will be in Medbay where Dr. Smith will be available for any who wish to discuss sixteenth century medicine. Leave your vote by 1300. Dismissed.”

            Keeping the box right under the nose of a empath meant no one would try to cheat by stuffing ballots either. The crowds dispersed slowly amidst heavy murmurs. Tony turned to him. “You knew, huh?”

            Lucas nodded. “Yeah. I wasn’t allowed to tell.”

            Tony shook his head. “S’okay. I get it.” He really didn’t seem mad or hurt at all.

            “You decided where you want to go?”

            Tony laughed. “It ain’t even hard, pup. There’s nothin’ here for me. How ’bout you?”

            “I want to stay with _seaQuest_. I don’t care what year or what sea.”

            The petty officer smirked. “Yeah right. Like you could live without the Internex.”

            _Better to be without Internex than friends and a home_. But Lucas didn’t want to sound sappy, so he just let it slide. Tony already had him pegged.

            “Lucas?” Captain Bridger’s hand was on his shoulder. “Could you make up some ballots like these?”

            Lucas turned to accept the piece of paper proffered, glanced at it, and nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

            “Make a few extra so people can change their mind.”

            “Got it. Do you really think anyone will want to stay here?”

            The captain shrugged. “If they don’t miss their families by now, there must not be much to go back to.”

            The teen shook his head. “There’s even less to stay _here_ for.”

            A ghost of a smile passed his lips. “I know. I’m counting on it.”

            Lucas was tempted to call him a sly old sea dog, but he might not take to the ‘old’ part. Someone else required the captain’s attention, so Lucas booked it back to his quarters to print up the ballots. It was nothing fancy, just a single sentence and two numerical choices. “Where do you want to spend the rest of your life? A. 1504 ; B. 2022” Lucas found a template in his word processor, typed the text in, and hit print. He found his printer under a plaid flannel shirt and made sure it had enough paper. He’d designed twelve ballots to a standard sheet, so he didn’t need a huge stack. Finding scissors to cut them apart was going to be a little trickier.

            Lucas looked under dirty laundry and crumpled food wrappers, but he couldn’t find any scissors. He finally gave up and started off toward Medbay with the full sheets. “Hey, you got some scissors I can borrow?” he asked as he entered, looking around for the doctor.

            “Over here,” Dr. Smith said to direct his wandering gaze. She was fiddling with some kind of medical monitor. “There’s some in that drawer.” She pointed across the room, not at her desk, but to an exam table.

            Lucas held up the papers. “I printed up ballots. Just have to cut them apart.”

            “Great. The ballot box is on my desk.”

            He found some bent blade scissors with dull tips and held them up. “These ones?”

            “Yes. Those can cut through bandages and casts. Paper should be no problem.”

            She was right. Although the funky shape was a bit awkward, they cut well and he had individual ballots stacked up in a neat pile by the ballot box in no time. “You got a pen people can use?”

            She rolled her eyes. “Top desk drawer.”

            Lucas marked his own ballot with a bold X in the 2022 box, folded it, and stuffed it through the slot in the box. “That’s one down.”

            “Decided already, have you?” There was no surprise in her voice; she was just making polite conversation.

            “No contest. Don’t tell me you’d even _think_ about staying here.” The captain was sending all his doubters to her for her to talk them out of it.

            “Are you implying I’d make a decision _without_ thinking?”

            Lucas caught his lower lip between his teeth. He always seemed to say the wrong thing around her. “I didn’t mean it that way. I… uh…”

            She walked over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. Her voice was softer when she spoke. “I know what you meant. I don’t find it tempting, no, but that doesn’t mean it’s as horrible as you think. Not everyone lives and breathes computers, you know.”

            Okay, so Lucas thought computers were an absolute essential element to life. Still, there were dozens of other reasons not to want to stay here: medicine, science, communication, electricity, entertainment.

            She chuckled. “Some people can only see the danger and it takes over their thinking.”

            “I guess I can understand. If _seaQuest_ stays, I’d stay.”

            Her face turned curious. “ _Would_ you?”

            He really, _really_ didn’t want to be forced into that choice, but he hoped he would have the courage to choose his friends and his home over Internex games and all the allure of the modern world. He produced a feeble smile. “I’ve had harder choices.”

            “Yes, you have.” The doctor smiled warmly and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. That’s one choice I don’t think you’ll have to make.”

            In less than two hours, she was proved right. No one had chosen 1504. Captain Bridger grinned widely as he opened the last vote. “That makes it unanimous. We all go back together. Is two hours enough time for everyone to get ready?” he asked those gathered in Medbay to watch the ballot counting.

            People nodded and answered in the affirmative.

            “We’re in no hurry. If anyone has any ideas or concerns, please come see me or one of the officers. If nothing comes up, we’ll leave at 1500 hours.”


	51. Chapter 51

            Nathan made sure _seaQuest_ was in tiptop shape. He also made time for each one of his co-conspirators for a word in private. Wendy was first on his list. She’d taken time off, like he’d ordered, but it really hadn’t been long enough. “As soon as we’re in the clear, you get shore leave,” he told her.

            “Assuming we don’t get hijacked, you mean.”

            “Come on, have a little faith.”

            She sighed. “I know. It’s just hard knowing I’m supposed to die.”

            Nathan’s jaw dropped. “I thought you had that memory erased?”

            She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything Major Allen dumped in my head while he was under the influence of that Psysine drug, no. But you insisted I stay in the room to watch the video recording of your older self chewing you out. I didn’t get that information from a mind-scan.”

            “God, Wendy, I forgot about that. I’m sorry.” He took her hand. “So on top of everything else, you’ve been putting your affairs in order, haven’t you?”

            A guilty look crossed her face. “I couldn’t rest until it was out of the way.”

            “You had no one you could talk to either.”

            “You and Jonathan are the only other ones who know and you’ve both had your hands full.”

            “You could have come to me. We’ve not in any hurry.” He consulted his watch. “1500 was an arbitrary departure time. I can delay it as long as necessary.”

            She smirked. “And do what? Try to make me feel better about my mortality? There’s nothing you can say. Besides, _I_ believe you’re going to change history.”

            “I’ve been thinking about what Dr. Plodet proposed. I think I should let all the civilians off as soon as we get home.”

            “You’re not suggesting going into combat without your CMO, are you?”

            “I can’t ask civilians to be at risk.”

            “Like hell you can’t. Being on _seaQuest_ at all is a risk. We all knew that when we came aboard. Look, I’ll save you the burden. I’m volunteering to stay. Send everyone else off if you feel you must. But I’m staying.”

            _Stubborn little thing_. He smiled and shook his head. “Guess I can’t talk you out of it. Are you sure you don’t need more time before we leave? This is your one chance in a million when time has no meaning.”

            “Really?” Her voice dripped in sarcasm. “You don’t think anyone would be disappointed if you tell them they have to wait another day?”

            “Probably. But I can deal with that. Say the word and it’s done. I mean it.”

            She smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I know,” she whispered. “But it’s really not necessary.”

            He watched her a moment to see if she’d change her mind. She could probably feel his concern was real. “Okay, on the advice of my Chief Psychologist, I accept keeping the schedule is in everyone’s best interests, including yours. You will tell me if that assessment changes.”

            “Fair enough, Captain.”

            He left Medbay and went to the bridge. Brody and Ford were both outwardly calm but he could see the fire behind their eyes. One didn’t have to be empathic to recognize they were both itching to have it out with these marauding aliens. Only their military training and experience gave them that veneer of patience and restraint. His meetings with each of them were short and simple.

            When Nathan pulled Tim aside, the first words out of his mouth were, “I don’t have anything else on the alien language, sir.”

            “Tim, I thought we agreed there was no sense beating that dead horse anymore.”

            “Oh. Right.”

            “When we get back, you’re going to be busier than anyone. _SeaQuest_ has been missing for a week and we’re going to materialize out of nowhere. The Galapagos Undersea Community will need to be assured we weren’t testing some sonar stealth device. The UEO is going to want answers. Families will be anxious to talk to their loved ones. I’m going to want to speak to McGath and Admiral Noyce.”

            “I thought he was retired.”

            “Yeah, and I thought _I_ was retired four years ago. If he can pull _me_ out of retirement, turnabout is fair play.”

            Tim nodded. Bill’s home vid-link number was already on file. Nathan had imposed upon their friendship before. And if Bill had come back just to take down Admiral Overbeck, he wasn’t going to want to sit on the sidelines when the survival of the UEO was at stake either. It would be 0100 hours in Fort Gore when _seaQuest_ showed up, but it wasn’t like he’d never woken Bill up in the middle of the night before.

            “It’ll be a couple of hours before you’ll have a free minute to look at alien recordings. You’re going to have to trust Lucas to find what you need and sort through it so you’re not wasting time when you finally get around to it.”

            “I do trust Lucas.”

            “But?”

            Tim cringed. “But I’ve never learned a totally new language in under a week, Captain. Italian took me a month and it’s heavily based on Latin.”

            “You learned Italian in a month?”

            “I was taking a full course load at the Academy. I didn’t have a lot of free time.”

            “That wasn’t a criticism; it was a compliment.”

            He swallowed and nodded. His weak smile tried to imply he already knew that, but the relief in his eyes belied he hadn’t.

            “I don’t need you to be able to recite the Constitution to them. I just need you to tell them to back off or else. Does that make it any easier?”

            His military mask slipped and he rolled his eyes, but he caught himself and replaced the mask quickly, pushing his glasses up his nose to hide his nervousness over the breach. “Yes sir. It helps a lot.”

            “I’m sorry I made the task seem harder than it had to be.”

            “I don’t want you to get your hopes up, Captain. If we find any samples at all, even a simple message might be beyond me.”

            “I know that. I just want _you_ to remember something.”

            “What’s that?”

            “Actions speak louder than words. Commander Ford and I have a message of our own we’ll give them. Professor LeConte said his people were aggressive conquerors. I have a feeling they’ll understand _our_ message even if we can’t put it in _their_ words.”

            This seemed to be a relief to Tim. Nathan would have to remember he couldn’t just ask the impossible from some people. Faced with a tall order, most of his crew would just give it their all and then feel proud they’d done their best. He didn’t have a reputation for being unreasonable. But Tim and Lucas both had enough insecurity they’d feel like failures just for having limitations, even though most people would see their limitations as extraordinary. With Lucas, Nathan had just been lucky he hadn’t _found_ the kid’s limitations yet.

            “I have one more thing to ask from you, off the record.” Not like ‘the record’ would make one wit of difference to Tim.

            The communications officer looked back, fully ready for Nathan to add another impossible task to his already incredibly steep workload.

            “Say a prayer for us, will you?”

            A genuine smile lit his face. “You got it.”

            Nathan returned the smile and patted Tim’s back before he took off in search of Lucas. The teen wasn’t in his quarters but Piccolo suggested the moon pool. Sure enough, he was there, talking to Darwin.

            Nathan walked in and picked up the vocorder. “Hey, pal, you ready to go home?” He wondered if Lucas would buy the feint he’d come here to see the dolphin instead of him.

            “Darwin ready. Bridger play?”

            “Not for a while. I’m going to have to take _seaQuest_ very deep, my friend. If you come with us, you’ll be trapped onboard again. If I let you out, it may be a week before I can come back for you.”

            “Darwin wait for _seaQuest_.”

            Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. Leaving Darwin in the ocean was the safest thing for him. No matter what happened to the sub or any of the humans, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about his dolphin friend. “Good plan.”

            Lucas looked up from the tank. “Wow, I’m surprised he didn’t want to stay with us.”

            Nathan kept staring at the water even as he answered, “How long has he been stuck in tiny tanks, both on _MR-3_ and _skyQuest_? Even the moon pool isn’t very big and he’s been stuck here all the time we’ve been in the Black Sea. He’s got to be stir-crazy by now. The Pacific is going to be the best place for him.”

            “Yeah, I know.”

            Nathan cleared his throat lightly and lifted his face to the teen. “I didn’t really come down here to talk about the best place _for Darwin_.”

            Lucas looked up and met his gaze. “Please don’t send me away, Captain. _SeaQuest_ is _my_ home, too.” For once his tone wasn’t whiny. He was really trying to be mature.

            “I’m torn, kiddo.” He turned to face the teen and gently directed his shoulders so he was facing back. He held both shoulders and looked him direct in the eyes as he spoke. “I need you. No one else is going to have the time or your talent to dig up vid-files on the Hyberion language. I’ve come to count on you as part of my bridge crew. All of our chances are better when you’re on the team.”

            “Then let me stay.” Those big blue eyes of his were hopeful.

            Nathan held up his index finger and made his voice firm. “One condition.”

            “When you say it’s time to evacuate, I don’t put up a fight,” Lucas blurted out.

            “That’s right. You give me your word you won’t delay _or_ argue, no matter _who_ tells you it’s time.”

            “I swear, Captain. I don’t want to go to Hyberion.”

            “Neither do I. Commander Ford and I have to program missiles. But we’re not planning to stick around. The _Stinger_ can really only carry two and still be fast. I can do _my_ job better if I don’t have to worry about _your_ safety.”

            “Thank you.”

            “For what?”

            “For not treating me like a kid.”

            “Thanks for not acting like one.”

            He still felt a bit guilty for exploiting the teen’s talents at the expense of his safety, but he hadn’t been lying. He no longer thought of Lucas as some stowaway passenger thrust upon him to babysit because his rich, influential father didn’t have the time to be a parent. Nor was he just a member of the science contingent, someone who stuck to the labs and didn’t mix with the military. Lucas was his chief computer analyst and he was a member of the bridge crew. He’d paid an extremely high price for that association when Beauregard chose his victims and he was only three months away from being a legal adult. He’d earned the right to make an adult decision.

            _He’ll keep his word,_ Nathan reminded himself.

            He took a detour between sea deck and the bridge long enough to stop at his quarters. He changed into a khaki uniform, since he expected to be making a lot of official contacts, telling unbelievable stories and calling in favors. He considered shaving but rejected it. He looked older with the beard and some equated age with wisdom. He was going to need all the help with credibility he could muster. Nathan opened his safe, removed the #2 Mobius Hole Initiator, and took it with him to the bridge.

            “Captain on the bridge,” Brody called when he walked through the clamshell doors. Everyone came to attention, including Lucas, although he’d need posture lessons and some serious wardrobe aid to pass a military inspection. It was enough he stood still and kept respect­fully quiet.

            Nathan took a deep breath and strode forward, leaving everyone frozen. He surveyed the stations and his crew for a full minute before he released them with a casual “As you were.” They relaxed and breathed again, but no one said a word. His eyes fell on his executive officer. “Status, Commander?”

            “All systems running at optimal, Captain. All stations manned. She’s ready at your command.”

            “Thank you. Mr. O’Neill, put me on shipwide.”

            “Aye, sir.” A press of a button and the green light lit. O’Neill nodded.

            “Attention. This is the captain. In a few seconds, I’m going to activate the Mobius Hole Initiator device. It’s a bumpy ride, but we’ve all done it before. I don’t know when we’ll face the alien attack, so everyone be prepared for anything. In case I don’t get a chance to tell you later, I’ve been amazed at the incredible accomplishments achieved by both civilian and military personnel in the past few months and I’m supremely proud of the way you’ve worked together. No matter what happens in the coming hours or days, I count myself privileged to have been your captain.”

            He paused briefly to catch his breath and switch gears. “Last chance for anyone to get off.”

            The bridge crew chuckled. He imagined others all over the boat doing the same. If they were going to run into a trap, at least they’d do it with smiles on their faces. “Okay, everyone grab hold of something. This is it.” He nodded to O’Neill to cut off the shipwide mic and then he sat in his chair and waited for the seat to glide into position at the readout console. A quick look left and right to confirm everyone had braced themselves and then he pressed the button.

            A flash of blue light preceded the familiar swirling pattern on the forward screen, looming directly ahead of them.

            “Mr. Ortiz, make sure all WSKRS are beneath us and matching our course and speed. We don’t want Loner’s name to become self-fulfilling prophecy.”

            “Aye, sir. Bringing all WSKRS into close formation, holding at ten meters below _seaQuest_.”

            “All ahead one-quarter. Let’s take it slow and steady.”

            “All ahead one-quarter,” Brody repeated softly to the helmsmen.

            Nathan felt the gentle hum of the engines as they were coaxed gradually into the speed he’d ordered. The sleek hull of _seaQuest_ slid effortlessly through the waters of the Black Sea for the last time and then hit the turbulent barrier that divided 1504 from 2022.

            It was not unlike driving a motorcycle over a very rocky path. Everything shook and rattled intensely for several seconds and then the rumbling faded aft. The vibrations ended abruptly as the hull cleared the turbulent plane.

            “Captain, multiple contacts on sonar,” Ortiz called.

            “Where are they?”

            “Everywhere!”

            “Full stop. We don’t want to hit anyone.”

            “Full stop, aye,” Henderson confirmed.

            “I’ve got Internex, Captain,” Lucas said. Nathan could hear the joy in his voice.

            “Great. You know what to do.”

            O’Neill was next to report: “I’ve got about twenty vessels hailing us, sir. Half of them on the surface. Whom do you want to talk to first?”

            “Acknowledge all hails and put me through to whoever has the biggest ship or the highest ranking commander.”

            O’Neill nodded. He checked his computer readouts while his fingers pressed buttons seemingly independent of his attention. “I’ve got Admiral Noyce on the _Ronald Reagan_ , sir.”

            Nathan grinned from ear to ear. _An aircraft carrier!_ Bill had already brought exactly what he wanted and he didn’t even have to wake him up. “Put him through, Mr. O’Neill.”

            The communications officer nodded and flicked the switches that caused the vid-link image to iris into full screen. Bill Noyce looked like he hadn’t slept for a month, but he wore a wrinkled uniform and stood next to an American Navy captain, presumably the _Reagan_ ’s CO. “Nathan! Where the hell have you been?”

            The captain did his best to remain calm and professional. _Just hit the high points._ He drew a deep breath and dove in: “We’ve been time-traveling, Admiral. _SeaQuest_ got stranded in the Black Sea in the year 1504. My bridge crew was taken captive by a madman who imprisoned us on If Isle in the Mediterranean. Ensign Darwin and Chief Kendall led a rescue mission via shuttle and sailboat. Then the bridge crew and the rescue team got sucked into 2165 without _seaQuest_ , but an agency called the Temporal Guardians helped get us back to 1504 to collect _seaQuest_ and then get back here.”

            “Did you get hit in the head, Nathan? You’ve only been gone a week.”

            Nathan rolled his eyes. “No, Bill, I got the tar beat out of me and I had to watch all my officers get tortured before my eyes. But I did _not_ hit my head. I’d love to acquaint you with the finer points of time travel and discuss why we’ve all experienced more than two months passing while you only perceived us missing a week, but I don’t know how much time we have.”

            “How much time you have? What are you talking about? What’s wrong with _seaQuest_?”

            “She’s fine. And we’re all fine now too, thanks for asking,” he snapped with more than a hint of annoyance. He’d mentioned imprisonment and torture and all Bill cared about was the sub.

            Chagrin played heavily on the admiral’s weary face. “I’m sorry, Nathan. I’m glad you’re back. We’ve been looking for you for days. You just vanished without a trace.”

            “Well, I hope you missed us, Admiral, because we’re not out of the woods yet. Those Temporal Agents I told you about revealed _seaQuest_ is going to be stolen by a big alien mothership in the next twenty-four hours. If you think one week is bad, try to comprehend a decade. You get NASA on the horn and have someone fire up those big fat telescopes we invested so much money in. If it looks like the coast is clear, I’ll send my civilians to safety.”

            “An alien mothership? Do you realize how that sounds? For godsakes, Nathan, they’ll be locking you up in a little rubber room.”

            “You asked me where I’ve been and I told you, Bill. If you want to get on a shuttle and come down here, I’ll show you my proof. Otherwise, you’re just going to have to trust me.”

            “Maybe I _will_ come down there.”

            “I’ll put on the tea. Oh, if anyone hears from Commander Scott Keller, ignore it. The aliens are using him to get to us.”

            Noyce sighed and rolled his eyes. “That astronaut who disappeared? You’re saying Scott Keller is part of this alien plot?”

            “Yes, and Tobias LeConte too. Look, I know how crazy all this sounds, but it’s true. Send some spiers down here if you don’t believe me.” Bill had been the one to unleash Dmitri Rossovich’s little band of telepaths on the crew when they were uncovering the Library of Alexandria. This was ten times more serious than selling their location to some military magazine.

            “You’ve already got Dr. Smith. She’s the best the UEO has.”

            “You want to talk to _her_? I can arrange that.”

            Bill scratched his chin. “Yeah, put her on.”

            “Mr. O’Neill, pipe the admiral down to Medbay on a secure line.”

            “Aye, sir.”

            Nathan waved and mouthed a quick, “Bye Bill” before the image of his old friend blinked off the screen, replaced by the UEO crest. “Who’s next in line?” he asked O’Neill.

            “Governor Juan Sanchez of Galapagos Undersea Colony. His English is broken, but he’d like to speak to you in person.”

            “All right, but stand by in case he gets stuck.”

            “Aye,” O’Neill said as he flipped the switch.

            A brown-skinned man with sleek black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache came into view. He was dressed in a bright yellow tunic with simple yet sharply-tailored lines. Nathan dipped his head in a nod. “Governor Sanchez?”

            “Sí. Capitán Bridger, no?”

            “Yes. I apologize for our sudden, unannounced arrival.”

            “No, no. Está bien. Do you require assistance? La Colonia Submarina de Galápagos is… _¿cómo se dice? …a su disposición_.”

            O’Neill translated in a discreet voice, “at your disposal.”

            The governor nodded. “Sí, at your disposal.”

            Now this was more like it. “ _Gracias_ , Señor Sanchez. I accept your kind offer. Do you have room for some temporary guests? I have a little over a hundred scientists I need to get to safety. The UEO could arrange to pick them up. It would only be for a short time.”

            Sanchez nodded emphatically. “They are most welcome here, Capitán.”

            Nathan inclined his head. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

            “ _De nada_. Call us if you need anything more.” The call irised out.

            “They were helpful,” Ford observed.

            “Yes, they were. We’ll have to return the favor sometime,” Nathan remarked absently. “Mr. O’Neill, put me on shipwide again.”

            A nod and a flip of the switch. “You’re on, sir.”

            “Attention. This is the captain. In order to avoid a rushed emergency evacuation, I have arranged for all civilian personnel to leave _seaQuest_ in one hour. Please use that time to gather what you wish of your work and your personal belongings and report to Launch Bay. Shuttles will transport you to Galapagos Undersea Colony where you may make further travel arrangements, or wait, if you so choose. It’s been a pleasure having you all aboard and it is my sincere wish to see many of you again in future tours, assuming there’s a _seaQuest_ left at the end of this week.” He gave O’Neill the cut-throat gesture.

            Ortiz flashed Lucas a sad smile and pushed his shoulder, prodding him to move, presumably before there was a confrontation. Lucas had been so glued to his computer, he didn’t understand what Miguel was prodding him for.

            Nathan used his official tone and announced to the whole bridge: “Mr. Wolenczak is staying aboard for now. We need his talents and he’s old enough to volunteer to assume the same risks we all are.”

            Lucas beamed a smile and accepted back pats and high-fives from those who were near. He only spared a few seconds on acknowledgement before his attention dove back into his computer screen.

            “Captain, I’ve got Secretary General McGath calling,” O’Neill said.

            “Perfect timing. Put him on.” He hoped Noyce had already talked to him so he wouldn’t have to recite the entire journey log again.

            “Nathan, thank God you’re alive. Is everyone all right?”

            “We’ve had a very rough time, Mr. Secretary, but we’re fine for the moment. Has Admiral Noyce had a chance to fill you in?”

            “Yes, I just spoke with him.”

            Nathan waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. The captain filled the pregnant pause. “Are you going to send someone with a straightjacket to haul me off and have me committed?” His voice was sarcastic, but he was only half-kidding.

            McGath was not amused. His face was set in a stern posture. “Yesterday, I might have. But this morning, we got some curious readings on the _Pioneer 13_ deep space probe. No one wants to speculate, but there have been whispers about prelude to invasion.”

            “Not invasion. Hijacking. They want _seaQuest._ In one version of history, I fell for their trap and they got her. They’re _not_ getting her this time.” Nathan’s voice was as firm and resolute as he could make it. He meant it with every fiber of his being.

            “What do you need from me?”

            “After I off-load my civilians, I’m taking _seaQuest_ as deep as I can get her in the hopes seawater will act as a barrier to whatever means of grappling they might have. If you can get a fix on our raiding bandits, that would be helpful. Lucas is trying to dig up anything he can on Tobias LeConte. I suggest you give him carte blanche across all security protocols.”

            “Consider it done.”

            “Do we have anything that can challenge a mothership in the air?”

            “How big is it?”

            “Those who lived to tell about it either never saw it or can’t remem­ber. But it’s big enough to grab _seaQuest_ , stow her in a hold, and take off in our atmosphere without the slightest bit of trouble.”

            McGath gasped. “It’s got to be enormous. Maybe we can’t challenge it in the air, but we can be a fly in their ointment, so to speak.”

            “Good. Even if all they do is recon, that’s better than nothing. Our best guess is—” Nathan consulted his watch. Had it really only been fifteen minutes since they arrived? “…within the next 23 hours and forty-five minutes. That’s the latest. It could be anytime.”

            “Understood. Good luck to you all.” McGath’s image faded into the trident symbol of the UEO.

            “More support than I expected,” Nathan muttered.

            “Being gone a week shook them up,” Ford said. “I think it was better than having an extra week to prepare.”

            “And we have Dr. Smith to thank for that. Somebody make sure we nominate her for a Nobel Peace Prize when all this is over.”


	52. Chapter 52

            Wendy walked down the deserted corridor to Medbay. She’d spent the last hour helping science staff pack up what they could and board shuttles to Galapagos Colony. While most everyone felt a pang of regret to leave _seaQuest_ , they were grateful they’d been given time to save their work and grab belongings. Wendy had grown used to the back­ground noise caused by other people’s emotions. It took mental energy to block them out, both for their privacy and her own sanity, so it should have been a relief to be nearly alone, but it wasn’t. The quiet was eerie, like a graveyard, or like that soundproof cell in Beauregard’s prison.

            History had already been changed, hadn’t it? The original outcome couldn’t happen now that more than half of the people originally abducted were no longer aboard. They couldn’t die or lose ten years of Earth time if they were safe in an undersea colony. And if that had changed, wasn’t it reasonable to assume her fate didn’t have to be the same either? Somehow, logic wasn’t winning over her emotions like it should. Nathan was right. She needed a nice long shore leave.

            But she couldn’t have rested at all if she’d left now. Both Nathan and Jonathan had already declared war in their minds. Yes, they wanted to play cat-and-mouse rather than fight, but she didn’t have to scan them to know they wouldn’t pull punches if they were forced into a corner. If things got ugly, a few Navy medics, no matter how well-trained, were not going to cut it. Until another CMO was hired, she was it and she wasn’t going to run off just because it was dangerous.

            Wendy fired up her computer, mainly out of habit. If Medbay wasn’t in need of attention (it wasn’t), there was always work to be found in requisitions and record-keeping. When the screen flashed on, she heard a tone she recognized, yet hadn’t heard in ages. Her inbox had messages! It shouldn’t have surprised her. Back in their own time, she should have known they’d reconnect with the Internex and email and vid-mail would automatically update. She clicked over to the combined menu. 1375 new messages. In just a week? What if the TGA had given them the six weeks she pleaded for?

            With a sigh, she opened her email list first. A quick scan revealed at least two-thirds of it was spam. She set to work deleting all the junk without opening. As she was perusing the list, she mentally tagged the mail she didn’t delete, prioritizing it for what to read now and what she could put in a folder for later. She certainly wasn’t going to drool over the latest lab-coat designs if she might not be on Earth to take delivery, but she didn’t want to delete it and miss a chance at ordering later. One of the notes she’d written herself before her mindwipe had said, “Several of the male crewmembers think you dress like a slut. Don’t worry about who. Just fix it.” She was taking her own advice to heart.

            Amidst all the spam and useful advertisements, she found something personal. The return address was mswatkins@podunkhermitage.net. That domain name was Mary Sue’s idea of a joke. There was not one but three emails from her. Wendy opened the first one.

 

**Wendy?**

**What’s going on?**

**I can’t feel either you or Tim.**

**I wasn’t spying. I swear.**

**I often sweep by to make sure you’re okay.**

**Please just tell me you’re doing some top-**

**secret parapsychology experiment or something.**

**I’m worried about you.**

**Mary**

            _Sweep by?_ That was worth a question when she wrote back. Wendy opened the next mail.

 

**Wendy, this isn’t funny.**

**Now I hear _seaQuest_ is supposedly missing?**

**How can it be missing? A sub that big can’t get lost!**

**Look, I know you’re probably working on some kind of anti-detection technology. You don’t have to give me any details.**

**And if they shut off your email and vid-link, fine. Have Tim do a quick Transmit. I won’t make him chat or anything.**

**You know how paranoid I am.**

**Please just tell me you’re okay.**

**Mary**

            Wendy was about to compose a reply right then, but she decided to read the last message first. She clicked on the third message from the same address.

 

**Dear Wendy,**

**I don’t know why I’m writing this.**

**Father Baker tells me that the UEO really doesn’t know where _seaQuest_ is and since you’re not answering me, you’re probably at the bottom of some dark, cold trench with a hull breach the size of Montana.**

**I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when it happened. I hope you didn’t die alone.**

**You can’t imagine how much I will miss you. You were one of the very few people who understood why I am the way I am.**

**I will never forget you.**

**Love, Mary**

Wendy let her finger hover over the reply button for no more than a second before she closed her email program completely and opened up her vid-link. She punched up Mary and waited while the call connected. They’d been back in 2022 for a good ninety minutes now, so the official calls had finally died down. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to get a line out.

            The screen opened with Mary’s standard floral arrangement picture. She almost always used the vid-link like an old-fashioned voice phone. “Hello?” Mary’s voice was tentative, guarded.

            “Mary, it’s me.”

            “Wendy!” She heard her voice at the same time as she felt Mary’s mind slam into hers, nearly knocking her out with overwhelming joy and relief. _Sorry_ , Mary mindspoke.

            _It’s okay. I’m sorry you thought I was dead. **SeaQuest** got pulled into a Mobius Hole and we were stuck in the past. We just got back._

_That explains it. No emails in the past, I assume._

_No, but everything piled up and downloaded when we got back._

Mary cringed inwardly. _You can delete the ones from me. They’re just asking where you were._

            _I already read them and they’re sweet. Why would you want me to delete them?_

_I was being paranoid. You weren’t dead, so I was wrong._

_Tell me something. Did you notice me or Tim missing first?_

There was a long hesitation and Wendy felt Mary’s embarrassment before her self-control mechanism caught up and blocked it. Her mindvoice was meek when she admitted, _Tim_. _It’s not what you think. I just check to see nothing’s wrong. Two seconds, max. I checked you too, right after. It would be no different than driving by your house and making sure your lights were on._

A house. Right. _How often?_

            Another hesitation. _Once or twice a day._

_You check on Tim **every day**?_

A deep sigh. _Well, before he vanished into thin air… er… thin water. Please don’t tell him, Wendy. All I did was make sure he wasn’t feeling any distress. Honestly._

_It’s too bad you couldn’t feel him in 1504. He had distress then, believe me. But you weren’t born yet._

Wendy felt Mary aching to ask about Tim’s distress, but stifling her interest for appearances’ sake. _Do you think it’s unethical? I’ll stop doing it._

_Why don’t you just try talking to him?_

_Oh, come on. He doesn’t want to talk to me. Besides, I wouldn’t know what to say._

_You could start by telling him what you’ve been doing._

Panic flooded her mind before she got a good handle on it. Clearly, the emotions she was experiencing were more challenging for her to keep under control than she was used to. _He’d think I’m stalking him._

_He’d think you **care**. Would that be so bad?_

_Would **you** want some stranger checking up on you? I don’t think so._

_Stranger? Mary, he owes you his **life**!_

_What, so that gives me the right to stalk him like some crazy nincompoop? Okay. You’ve convinced me it’s wrong. I’ll quit. Happy?_

_No, I’m not. You care so much it’s taking huge amounts of your psychic energy to hide it from me and you won’t even give him a chance._

_A chance for what?_

_A chance to get to know you. A chance to have someone to talk to about something other than his job. You’re not going to believe this, but he’s very insecure._

_Are we talking about the same Tim? The sweet communications officer who jumped out of a plane carrying two unconscious friends?_

_Yes. One and the same. Sweet, brave, **and** insecure. You’ve never scanned him or you’d know this._

_I told you I wasn’t scanning him. But you have?_

_With his permission, yes. And I’ve probably already told you more than I should have._

_Okay, I’ll email him and come clean, but then it’s up to him. He’ll probably be so creeped out that he’ll put up blocks so I’ll never be able to feel if he’s okay anymore. But I guess I deserve that._

_Listen, Mary. I can’t go into a lot of detail, but **seaQuest** is in danger right now. If we disappear like we did a week ago, we’ll probably be gone for ten years._ Wendy said ‘we’ generically, knowing the chances were good she wouldn’t be returning, but leaving enough doubt that it wasn’t an outright lie. _I’m really glad you wrote those emails, especially the last one, because there’s still a chance I won’t ever see you or talk to you again after today. I love you too._ Mary would know she meant it in the platonic sense, same as Mary had _._

Mary didn’t mindspeak what she was thinking, but Wendy felt her teeter between doubt (why would you be making vid-link calls in the middle of a crisis?) and utter despair (no! I can’t go through the loss again). All she could bring herself to put into words was, _Still in danger?_

 _We have good reason to believe some aliens want **seaQuest** and they’re going to try to swoop in with a huge spaceship and yank her out of the water. Admiral Noyce has an aircraft carrier standing by, but somehow I doubt fighter jets will be any match for a mothership that’s big enough to suck **seaQuest** out of the ocean and carry her off. _ Was she saying too much? Perhaps. Then again, if things went badly, Mary might be one of the very few who would know the truth about what happened. Wendy felt it was important someone knew. An event this monumental shouldn’t be hidden by the military and politicians _. If you can’t find me or Tim, just know it wasn’t by our choice._

Though shocked by the mention of alien abduction, Mary knew Wendy wasn’t lying and didn’t waste time discussing how preposterous it sounded. _I suppose it would be futile to suggest you just get off and let them have the darned submarine?_

_Captain Bridger already has an evacuation plan in place and we’ve practiced it. He has no intention of letting them take anyone. But sometimes things happen we have no control over. I tell you what, if I ever plan to get involved with any telepathic experiments that would put us out of touch, I promise I’ll notify you ahead of time. That way, if you ever can’t find me, you’ll know it’s because something is really wrong._

_Thank you, Wendy. I appreciate that._

_If I’m still around after all this, I’m going to be switching my focus from medicine to parapsychology. Would you consider collaborating with me?_

_C-collaborating? Where are you going to be, Chatton?_ Mary couldn’t hold down all the negative feelings associated with that place, but she tried to sound casual. __

_No, here on **seaQuest**. If it’s still here, of course. I’m going to be Chief Psychologist and assistant to the new CMO. But I should have plenty of time to explore parapsychology._

_Did Captain Bridger demote you?_

Wendy laughed. _No. He tried to talk me out of it. It was **my** idea._

_Oh. Good. He’d better not try to demote you._

            Wendy let her avoidance of the question slide. Why get in an argument when everything was so uncertain? Mary could think about it for now and it wouldn’t be so much of a shock if Wendy lived long enough to ask another time. If she disappeared or died, well, she certainly didn’t want their last contact to be tainted with notes of discord. Mary had already let her walls down far more than she usually did.

            _I have to go. You wouldn’t believe how much imminent alien abduction adds to my paperwork._

            Mary laughed. _Thank you for calling, Wendy. I really **was** worried._ Mary broke their mindlink. The vid-link screen was blank and probably had been since the second Mary recognized her caller and established alternate communication.

            Wendy leaned back in her chair, reflecting on their chat. It was rather nice to know someone besides her family would miss her if she disappeared. _Speaking of family_ … Wendy clicked back to her email to see if her mother or father had sent any messages. No emails from them. A brief glance at her vid-link messages and she saw one from her parents’ home number. She watched it and it sounded like they weren’t worried at all. She checked the date stamp. It had come the day the Mobius Hole appeared; Wendy just never got around to listening to it.

            She consulted her computer for the time zone conversion. It was still way too early back home. She’d have to try to remember to call later. In case there wasn’t a later, Wendy composed an email and sent it off. She finished deleting and sorting the rest of her messages. Most of what remained wasn’t important enough to even open.

            She clicked into her work programs and sent off requisitions and reports that had been sitting for months, just waiting for an Internex connection. She had hoped there was more needing her attention, but there really wasn’t. She shut down her monitor and sighed. _Now what?_

She stared at the wall for several long moments. She really only had three choices: stay here with nothing to do but worry, go to her quarters and try to rest (still with no better solution to the worry), or go to the bridge and hope the crew could keep her distracted enough to get her mind off herself.

            It wasn’t even difficult to choose. Wendy left the emergency lights on, but shut down everything else and hurried out. A trip up the spiral staircase and a short ride on the mag-lev and she arrived at the clamshell doors which separated the bridge from the corridor. Although she’d been eager to come, she now hesitated. Besides Lucas and her, there were no other civilians left on board. The bridge crew would be incredibly busy and she’d just be in the way. Or would she? She pulled out the PAL she kept on her belt. “Smith to Captain Bridger.”

            “Go ahead, Doctor.”

            “Medbay is ready for anything.”

            “Thank you. Why don’t you get some shut-eye?”

            “Captain, I can’t sleep. I was wondering if I’d be in the way if I came to the bridge.”

            “Not at all. You’re welcome any time.”

            She hit the button to open the clam doors and put her PAL away.

            “That was fast,” the captain said with a smirk. But there was a sparkle in his eyes. He wasn’t even mildly annoyed.

            Wendy stepped inside, advancing slowly. She could feel the energy radiating off everyone on the bridge. It was well after midnight where they were, but all of them were running off Black Sea time. They’d barely been at their stations for three hours yet. She could feel the undercurrent of tension, but they were all professionals, holding their anxiety at bay while they focused on their tasks. She made a conscious effort to block her empathic senses lest she violate anyone’s privacy, but she could still read body language.

            Miguel looked as relaxed as he always did. Not that he wasn’t serious about his work. He just enjoyed it so much it was hard to tell at any given time whether he was playing with the WSKRS or actually working. Brody looked like he was running tactical scenarios through the computer, tweaking variables and grinning at the screen. Jonathan was briefing the relief officers who had been on shore leave when they hit the Mobius Hole. Six supply launches had come in while civilians were leaving, bringing personnel as well as food and other assorted items they’d run out of during their extended absence. Now they had their full military complement again.

            Wendy took a second to wonder how differently everything might have turned out if those officers had been aboard and Darwin hadn’t been named acting captain. Would anyone have listened to the rants of a dolphin without the turn of events that gave him unique power? The thought made her shudder.

            Nathan leaned in toward her. “Are you all right?”

            “Just letting my mind wander too much. The whole boat is too quiet for me. That’s why I came up here.”

            He smiled warmly. “Well, if it’s noise you want, try Lucas and O’Neill,” he said, curling his thumb to the upper level of stations where the two of them were glued to a single computer screen and kibitzing over one of Professor LeConte’s recorded lectures which they were fast-forwarding, presumably to see if there was anything but English ever spoken. Wendy couldn’t imagine how they could tell—his voice was so high-pitched from being sped up; he talked a mile a minute.

            At first she thought they were ridiculing the silliness of his squeaky voice, but she soon discovered they were actually following the content of the speech and ridiculing _the class_ for not recognizing they were being taught by an alien. Of course, it was a lot easier to recognize looking back with that knowledge as a given.

            They were a bit on the loud side, talking to each other and thinking out loud, and doing it over the fast-forwarded lecture, but it also sounded like they were absorbing important clues in his physics and astronomy lessons, even if they weren’t getting anywhere with the Hyberion language. Every once in a while, Lucas would do a palm-to-forehead “duh” and grin like a maniac. Both he and Tim were scribbling notes furiously. _That’s probably good_ , Wendy thought. Whether for good or ill, not even the captain suggested they lower their volume.

            She turned her attention back to him. “Is everyone holding up okay? Anything I can do?” Everyone seemed fine to her, but Nathan knew them better than she did, at least in this domain. He could probably tell who woke up with a crick in their neck just by the nuance in their aye-ayes.

            “I think Brody has a hangnail,” Nathan jested in a loud whisper.

            She rolled her eyes and shook her head, chuckling lightly. “Call for a stretcher and someone type and crossmatch him,” she answered in the same tone.

            Brody looked up from his hypothetical sims with a humorous gleam in his eyes. “It’s bad, Doc. But whatever you do, don’t amputate.”

            Everyone in earshot laughed, including an amused chuckle from Jonathan. It struck Wendy how loose and calm everyone appeared. Well, most of them anyway. Lucas and Tim didn’t even notice laughing occurring outside their tiny tunnel of vision. They had to be concentrating pretty hard to absorb alien physics lectures in super- overdrive.

            Now that the relief officers had been brought up to speed on the situation and the plan, they’d all dispersed to secondary stations throughout the boat, most of them to Life Support and Engineering. Jonathan sidled up to Nathan and whispered in his ear and then the two entered a quiet conversation. It was apparent it was private and neither Wendy nor anyone else tried to eavesdrop. Brody donned his headset rather than chance overhearing them by accident, at least, that was what it looked like to Wendy. It was possible he was just trying to hear his own work over Lucas and Tim’s noise.

            Wendy backed against the wall so she wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.

            Just then, Commander Scott Keller appeared out of nowhere, right in the center of the bridge. It was his spitting image and the voice was perfect, but it was a projection or hologram. It wasn’t as wispy as the images caught in mist on the captain’s program of Professor Martinson, but it wasn’t opaque enough to be solid either.

            Everyone dropped their work to listen, Miguel ribbing Lucas and then Lucas alerting Tim. The hologram spoke with a desperate, pleading tone, appealing to Nathan, but when Nathan tried to address Scott, the hologram didn’t even acknowledge him. It wasn’t interactive, like Martinson. It was a recording. Still, it was easy to see how Nathan could have been enticed into a trap with that pleading as bait.

            When the image of Scott vanished, everyone stared at the empty space, frozen and dumbstruck. “Captain, I’ve got reports coming from all over the boat,” Brody said. “This image appeared to everyone who ever met Commander Keller.”

            Nathan stood tall and stepped forward to address the bridge. “All right, people. We knew this was coming. We hoped it would be later rather than sooner, but this is it. He said meet him at the Christmas Tree, which was our inside joke about the Andaman Sea. Time for us to move in the opposite direction. Mr. O’Neill, get me Admiral Noyce on a secured channel. Helm, plot a course toward the Peru-Chile Trench. What’s the deepest we can get in there, Commander?”

            Jonathan answered without consulting a computer. “Eight thousand meters at Richards Deep.”

            “Richards Deep it is.” Nathan leaned over to the communications station, since Tim was still making his way down from Lucas’s station. A flick of the switch put him on shipwide speakers. “Attention all decks. Prepare for deep submergence. Repeat, all hands to deep submergence stations.” He flipped the switch and was out of Tim’s way again just as he slid into the communications station. “Doctor, the bridge is going to be sealed off in about a minute. You’ll be stuck with us once the clam doors are shut.”

            “There’s no point being in Medbay if the injured can’t get there. I may as well stay.”

            Nathan rewarded her with a smile and a nod.

            “Admiral Noyce on Tac One,” Tim reported.

            “Put him on the main screen, Mr. O’Neill.”

            “Aye, sir.” A button depressed and Admiral Noyce’s face irised into focus. He looked much better to Wendy than when she’d first spoken to him, several hours earlier.

            Nathan was cool as a cucumber when he spoke. “The game’s afoot, Admiral. They baited the hook for Andaman Sea. We’re headed off to Richards Deep.”

            “Understood. _Ronald Reagan_ will be cruising directly above you and _USS Gerald Ford_ is going to stake out the Andaman.”

            “Uh… Admiral, you realize if they can grab a submarine, they can probably grab an aircraft carrier.”

            “Maybe so, but I’m betting they can’t grab both at once. If they came for _seaQuest_ , we’re going to stand in their way. Take care, Nathan.”

            “You too, Bill. _SeaQuest_ out.”

            Commander Ford waited for the captain to look away from the viewscreen. “All stations report ready for deep submergence, Captain.”

            “Thank you, Commander.” He looked out over the bridge. “All right, everyone. This is not a drill. Initiate deep submergence protocol.”

            The clamshell doors hissed shut. Wendy felt her ears pop as the room pressurized. The captain gave orders about angles, depths, and courses—just a bunch of numbers Wendy couldn’t comprehend. But there was no mistaking the steep incline of the floor downward. The mouse was going down the hole.


	53. Chapter 53

            Nathan didn’t push _seaQuest_ to full speed. They were already pretty far away from the Andaman Sea, and the continent of South America stood in the way of them gaining much more ground. He assumed geographical distance was probably irrelevant anyhow. A spaceship that traveled countless light-years across the galaxy was hardly going to be deterred by a couple thousand kilometers.

            Depth had to be their best bet. If the Hyberion people had submersible technology, they wouldn’t need _seaQuest_ to begin with. He had to hope whatever they used to levitate _seaQuest_ out of the water had some kind of range, hopefully one that decreased exponentially when it had to operate through water instead of air or vacuum.

            He’d also spent some time wondering why the Hyberions went to all the trouble of baiting their hook with Scott. Was it to gain cooperation from the crew once they were kidnapped or was it because they had no good way to find _seaQuest_ without her walking right into their trap?

            _SeaQuest_ couldn’t find airplanes without some kind of help on the surface. Airplanes couldn’t usually find submarines as long as they were deep enough to be invisible to the naked eye and infrared scans. Did he dare dream the alien mothership might not be able to _find_ them as long as they didn’t go near the rendezvous coordinates?

            He wasn’t counting on it. That was why he’d sent the civilians away and practiced evacuations. If not showing up to the trap and diving deep didn’t deter the aliens, then he was taking no chances with human lives. He had a few other tricks planned, but they were secondary or tertiary to getting everyone out.

            Although they had approached facing south, Nathan ordered a turnaround before they settled into Richards Deep. If they had to run, there was more trench to the north than to the south. He knew running was probably futile, but he couldn’t help making choices that gave him the best tactical advantage anyway. According to sonar, the _Reagan_ positioned herself five kilometers west, just outside of the trench and roughly perpendicular, so her flight runways ran east-to-west. They would probably rotate in the late afternoon. Flyboys didn’t tend to like staring into the sun during takeoff and landings. At least they were _Navy_ flyboys and not Air Force. Would Nathan ever shake that lingering distrust?

            The aerial assault was not his area of expertise and he was quite satisfied to leave those tactics to someone else. He had his hands full just worrying about _seaQuest_. If the Air Force had ever cared about mending its reputation with him (and he didn’t think they did) then this was the perfect opportunity. Nathan didn’t care which pilots or whose planes went after the thieving spaceship, as long as the aliens were thwarted. In his mind, this was a whole lot bigger than branches of service or countries and confederations. If humans couldn’t set aside their petty differences and work together, then all of Earth was at risk.

            At their leisurely pace, it had taken three hours to get into their hiding place. Commander Ford had reported readiness for “trench warfare, twenty-first century style.” Nathan gave him a covert wink for the clever turn of words.

            They did share something in common with the trench fighters from World War I. Once entrenched, life got very dull. Under deep submergence protocol, many of _seaQuest_ ’s passages were flooded. Right now, the bridge crew couldn’t return to their quarters or visit the mess. Fortunately, they’d planned ahead and had even more than the normal stockpile of MRE rations. There were no showers on the bridge, but they did have an emergency head.

            Since eleven out of the fourteen who were presently working had been so recently imprisoned under much worse conditions, only Piccolo, Kilgore, and Matthews had anything to complain about. And although Piccolo probably didn’t realize Nathan was paying any attention, the petty officer was the one muttering under his breath to the other two to can it.

            Lucas had exhausted every avenue he could think of to look for Hyberion language samples and found none. Even when Tobias and the Stormer were alone with each other, all they did was try to kill each other and growl a lot. O’Neill double-checked everything and concurred with the young hacker.

            Listening to the lectures in sped-up English was providing some clues into Hyberion knowledge and possibly even their psychology, so Nathan didn’t try to dissuade his Brain Trust from devouring the input. At least they were keeping busy. The rest of the crew made jokes about them being closet “Chipmunks” fans and Miguel led a chorus of the Chipmunk Christmas Song which the whole crew joined. Nathan hadn’t heard singing on the bridge since Crocker left and he’d missed it. Of course, he really didn’t want Chipmunk songs to become the norm. After that, Tim handed Lucas a headset and they both plugged in. Applause ensued.

            Nathan was glad Wendy had joined them. Her presence had a calming effect. He couldn’t decide whether it was from her being a civilian, a doctor, a female, or a telepath. Probably some combination of the four. Boring shifts were nothing new to submariners, but having practically nothing to do when they were in so much danger _was_. Wendy whispered the suggestion they start taking turns eating and resting.

            They settled into a four-hour rotation, half of them manning the stations while the other half slept and ate. Nathan, Tim, Lucas, Tony, Wendy, Mitchell, and Henderson called their group “The Sharks” because Lucas objected to Commander Ford’s idea of dull military designations like Team Tango and Team Foxtrot. Not wishing to be outdone, Brody, in a brilliant tactical maneuver, suggested their group be named Team Zulu. In one fell swoop, he appealed to Ford’s ethnic pride _and_ his military sensibilities, while keeping it under the parameters of the original idea. Jim had his moments.

            Nathan didn’t mind taking the first rest shift. He had a feeling it would be a while. Edward had said twelve hours, but he was likely counting until the time of abduction, not the time of the holographic distress call. Nathan was pretty sure he wouldn’t have reported the call in the original history. He would have trusted Scott and investigated first, without telling his superiors. And that stupidity had been his downfall. This time, he was keeping everyone on the same page.

            They didn’t have the communications buoy afloat because its presence might give away their location and it could be used as a snare. They didn’t have an easy way to detach the cable. But the _Reagan_ had an underwater amplifier, which she extended below her. They could piggyback off the aircraft carrier to anywhere in the world. They maintained thirty minute check-in intervals with the _Reagan_ and Noyce had called in person three times. _To think I was concerned I would have to cajole him back into active duty_.

            Jonathan woke him ten minutes before the shift change, as he’d requested.

            “Anything?” he asked.

            The commander shook his head. “Not yet.” He didn’t look disappointed, exactly, but he wasn’t relieved either. “There’s a report on your computer screen, but it’s pretty sparse.”

            “Okay, get some rest. I’ve got the bridge.”

            “Relinquishing command to you, aye, sir.”

            Nathan stood and stepped into his uniform coverall. At least the bridge was warm enough for them to strip into underwear to sleep. Nathan took great pride in the fact both Wendy and Lonnie felt comfortable enough to strip down to underwear too. He hadn’t made so much as a suggestion.

            “All right, Sharks, time to get up.” He made his voice pleasant but loud. The military people sprang up smartly. Lucas and Wendy were only slightly slower. No one complained. “Leave the bedrolls for Team Zulu. Grab some chow if you want and get to your stations.”

            Tim and Tony chorused, “Aye, sir” while the others nodded through their yawns.

            Nathan made a cup of instant coffee, but they didn’t have a microwave. It was room temperature. When Lucas saw him start to drink, his eyes widened in shock. “Do you actually like cold coffee, Captain?”

            Nathan shrugged. “Not particularly, but it gets the job done.”

            Lucas extended his hand. “Here, let me take care of it.”

            He hesitated a second, but Lucas looked so innocent, he finally decided to trust him and handed over his cup.

            Lucas took the cup and set it down on the floor near the electronic access panel for the communications station. Tim quirked a brow and watched him warily, but didn’t try to stop him. Lucas opened the panel and pulled a handful of wires out. He grabbed a yellow and red one. Tim figured out what he was doing and pressed a button on his console. A yellow indicator light went dark. Lucas used a pocket knife to strip the wire and then nodded. Tim pressed the button again, lighting the yellow light. Lucas held the plastic-coated part and lowered the bare end of the wire into the cold coffee. In about thirty seconds, the cup was steaming.

            Lucas stood. With a grin, he offered the coffee back to the captain.

            “Thanks, but what of my ship’s systems did you just wipe out to give me hot coffee?”

            “Vid-link in the crew lounge,” Tim answered. “No one can get to it now anyway. And it only takes five minutes to fix when this is all over.”

            “Good thinking. Leave it out.” Everyone could have hot water now. Lucas pressed the button again. Presumably, the wire was safe while the indicator light was dark.

            As the Sharks filtered into their stations, Team Zulu members briefed them and backed off, retreating toward the food stash. Nathan skimmed over Ford’s report, verifying it was very sparse. When he closed the file, his menu came up, reminding him he had 379 unopened emails from various UEO and Navy command addresses.

            He raised his head from the computer screen, looking around for anything else he could do to put off paper-pushing. There was nothing else. With a sigh of resignation, he opened the email list. They’d been out of the loop for a week, so there were very likely some interesting mails peppered in with the rest of the dreck. He scanned over the addresses and subjects, hoping to find a good apple or two. He opened the one from Noyce, which was just a threat to kick his butt if his radio silence wasn’t involuntary. He also threatened to come looking for him personally if he didn’t report soon. _Guess he carried out that threat_ , Nathan reflected with a smile.

            Then he saw another interesting mail. This was one he’d been waiting for. He clicked it open and grinned. “Mr. Ortiz, would you make sure the printer is on?” he asked. Miguel was standing right next to it, eating.

            He nodded and tried to say “Sure,” but it came out muffled over the food still in his mouth. He checked the machine and gave the captain a thumbs-up.

            Nathan sent the document to the printer and then looked around the bridge. None of the Zulu guys had started to lie down yet, so this was a good time to speak to everyone. “May I have everyone’s attention? This won’t take long. I just got verification from the Navy for a request I put in quite a while back.” He waited while Miguel delivered the printout to him. “Mr. O’Neill has just been promoted to full lieutenant.”

            The bridge erupted in applause and cheers. Nathan handed O’Neill the official letter. “Sorry we can’t get you a change of rank insignia right now.”

            “That’s okay, sir.”

            “Wait! I got it,” Piccolo cried. He hurried to the communications station, pulled out a black marker from his pants pocket, and before Tim could stop him, he scribbled over the J.G. on his embroidered nameplate. “Ha, ha! Your turn, buddy!”

            Nathan chuckled. “I guess I stand corrected.”

            Tim gave Tony an annoyed but tolerating smirk, looked down at his uniform and shook his head, and then folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket. Nathan shook his hand first and then cleared away to give everyone else a chance to congratulate him.

            In the midst of his happy exchanges, O’Neill’s smile suddenly dropped and he pressed his finger to the headset he’d never removed. “I’ve got Admiral Noyce for you, Captain.” Immediately, every face sobered and the sound stopped.

            “Center screen.”

            “Aye.” O’Neill sat at his station and pressed a button.

            Bill’s face matched theirs in seriousness. “The _Gerald Ford_ saw it, Nathan. Said she swooped in out of nowhere and hovered over the water at no more than 500 meters. They say she’s as big as the Pentagon. We tried to make contact, but she just ignored us. She had some kind of strobe-light scanner and scanned about ten square kilometers of sea in less than a minute. We didn’t even get our fighters in the air before she took off. Backwash caused an enormous wave which might have overturned a smaller ship, but the carrier weathered it without casualties. She went straight up, Nathan. Not even our satellites could track her.”

            “Well, do you think she gave up? Their fish didn’t take the bait, so just go home?”

            “No one is assuming that. When we parked the _Ford_ out there, people got curious. There were several small, private boats in the area, not as close as our people were, but that thing was so big, it could have been seen for probably twenty miles. Footage has already hit the Internex.”

            “Great, so we’re going to have a panic.”

            “Maybe. But we can always argue they were peaceful explorers who just came down to get a look around. They scanned the ocean and left. No more scary than our old Mars Rovers.”

            “We _hope_ they left.”

            Commander Ford cleared his throat. “And we hope they didn’t go back to get reinforcements.”

            Noyce nodded and took a deep breath. “Every confederation on the planet is going on alert. President Chi requested we leave _Gerald Ford_ there and our president acceded. For now.”

            Nathan could see where this was leading and he didn’t like it. “So how long before the _Reagan_ gets called away?”

            “McGath convinced the president that guarding _seaQuest_ is in the best interest of the United States, but all bets are off if a spaceship gets anywhere near American airspace.”

            “Understood, Admiral. Let’s hope our internal politics are too convoluted for alien minds to comprehend.”

            “I hope you’re right. How are you feeling about your location? You still want to stick to the plan?”

            Nathan looked around at his crew. Everyone nodded. “We’re quite comfortable here. We’re staying if you’re staying.”

            “We’re staying too.”

            “Thanks for the update, Admiral. _SeaQuest_ out.”

            The second the vid-link went dark, Lucas shot into his station, muttering loudly. “I take a four-hour nap and the whole world falls apart.”

            Nathan bit his lips to stifle a smile. “Don’t sweat it, kiddo. You’d have been watching Professor Chipmunk if you’d been awake.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” he said absently as his fingers flew over the keyboard. He stopped clicking and stared at his screen, but there was no sound since they’d plugged in headphones.

            “Well?” Nathan asked.

            “Oh.” Lucas seemed surprised. “Do you want to see it all, or should I sift through and find the best stuff?”

            “I think we’re all curious and we appear to have nothing better to do. Go ahead and put it on the main viewer.”

            One at a time, Lucas pulled up video with varying angles on the mothership. Much of the footage was shaky and out of focus, but even the worst stuff showed a lot more than the average UFO hoax. It was all taken in broad daylight. After about four amateur vids, he found footage from a news channel. Everything was clear, and the camera operator had been wise enough to get the aircraft carrier into the shot for scale. Everyone gasped and Lucas froze the image.

            “Anyone know how long the _Gerald Ford_ is?”

            Nathan knew, but he wasn’t sure it was wise to calculate the size of that thing. Numbers would only make it more intimidating. It was easily double the length of the carrier and _seaQuest_ was smaller than the _Ford_.

            Wendy spoke softly, directing her gaze to Lucas. “Is it going to make it any easier to fight it if you know?”

            Lucas shrugged. He looked at Wendy first, and then the captain. Nathan shook his head, but he didn’t glare or frown. He wasn’t going to outright forbid him from calculating. The teen came to a quick decision. “I guess not.” He resumed the video. White text in some kind of Asian characters scrolled beneath.

            “Mr. O’Neill, can you read that?” Nathan asked.

            He shook his head. “It’s Vietnamese. I’m not very good at reading anything that doesn’t have a phonetic alphabet, at least not as fast as it’s going by.”

            “Is there audio?” the captain asked Lucas.

            Lucas pulled his headphones from the console and flipped a switch. A wind-marred audio track played some gibberish.

            “It’s enormous,” O’Neill said with more monotone than the voice he was translating. He continued in a broken fashion, listening and translating phrases at a time. “Where did it come from? It’s hovering over the American ship. Is it Russian or Chinese? It has no markings. What is it doing? There’s a light underneath it now. Is it going to land? Can it float? Are the Americans communicating with it? Wait! There it goes. It is very fast. I do not think it came from Russia or China. I do not think it came from our world.”

            The footage ended and news commentators appeared. “We don’t need to see any more, Lucas,” Nathan said. He wasn’t sure seeing any of it had been wise. He waited a few seconds in silence. “Well, does anyone think we need to change our plans now?”

            Commander Ford pressed his lips together and shook his head deliberately. “No, sir. Look at what we learned!”

            _We learned that it’s a big damned ship and we’re puny in comparison_. Nathan sure hoped Jonathan wasn’t going to say anything close to what he was thinking.

            “It didn’t hide way up orbit or the outer stratosphere. We can hit it with our missiles easily. The _Reagan_ will be close enough to hit it too.”

            “We can’t use anything nuclear though,” O’Neill put in. “We’re way too close to populated land masses. Radiation would kill millions.”

            “Absolutely correct, Mr. O’Neill. No nukes. The big question is how do we hit it so it doesn’t crash on top of us?”

            “If we hit it from down here, it can’t touch us,” Brody said. “The water will slow its descent, and it’s too wide for the trench. It will lie across the top and we can slip right under it.”

            “That’s assuming we fire before it grabs us,” Nathan pointed out.

            “They came here uninvited and they plan to steal _seaQuest_!” Lucas squealed.

            “I know that and you know that, but we have no proof. If this becomes some sort of intergalactic incident, I do _not_ want to be cast as the trigger-happy human who doomed Earth to war with an advanced alien species while they claim they just wanted to look around.”

            “Look around, my butt,” Piccolo said. “If they came to explore, why did they ignore that aircraft carrier back in the Andaman?”

            “Good point,” the captain said. “Why _did_ they ignore the _Ford_?”

            “Because she wasn’t a threat,” Commander Ford said.

            “How would they know that?”

            “They’ve been here before.” It was Henderson’s voice. She of all people would never forget the Stormer.

            “That Stormer didn’t make it back to report anything, but they have Commander Keller. Scott knows very well what our aircraft carriers are capable of. If they’re deep enough in his head to dig up a forty-year-old favor I owe him from our Academy days, then they have to know about our defenses.”

            “I don’t think Scott is with them, Nathan,” Wendy said.

            He whirled on her. “Explain.”

            “I’m not saying they didn’t capture him, but why send us a recording? He’s either dead already, or being held as insurance, back on their planet.”

            _And not giving them **seaQuest** will condemn him to death_.

            Her voice turned soft and compassionate. “I think Scott would sooner die than betray his planet. It’s not your fault.”

            He stared her down, trying to decide whether she’d read his mind or just guessed his thoughts. It was getting harder and harder to tell now she knew him so well. He decided it didn’t matter. She was right. He had to stop thinking about Scott and concentrate on the bigger picture.

            “Captain, I’ve got UEO Command calling,” O’Neill reported. “The mothership has been sighted over New Cape Quest, headed this way.”

            “Damn,” Nathan muttered. He didn’t have to say a word to Team Zulu. Everyone dropped their food and scrambled to their stations.

            “E.T.A. is one minute,” O’Neill said, obviously parroting what someone else told him.

            “Florida to South America in a minute?” Brody remarked incredu­lously.

            “Mr. O’Neill, sound battlestations.”

            “Aye,” he said to the captain. He flipped switches to sound the alert. “Battlestations. All hands to battlestations,” he said as calmly as Nathan had ever heard him.

            “Mr. Brody, run a weapons check.”

            “Aye, sir.” He pressed buttons and checked over his computer screen. “All systems normal. All weapons ready at your command.”

            Nathan nodded. “There’s still a chance they’re coming here because of the _Reagan_. If we sent a carrier to the trap site, we’d probably send one to guard their target. We’re not moving until we’ve got some indication she’s actually found us. Helm, be ready to go to full speed, but don’t move without my order.”

            “Aye, sir,” Henderson said.

            “Do we have a designation for that alien ship?” Ford asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

            Nathan understood. Every time they called it a ‘mothership’ or talked about her with awe in their voices, they gave it power. He wanted to weaken it in their minds. “Not yet. Any suggestions?”

            “Wile E. Coyote,” Piccolo blurted out.

            Several people laughed. Laughing was good. Making fun of the enemy was always preferable to fearing him.

            “I like it,” Ford announced.

            “And we’re the Roadrunner he never catches,” Lucas said, catching on.

            “Let’s just hope their Acme gadgets aren’t any better,” Brody growled.

            “Don’t you get it?” Lucas countered. “It’s never the quality of the gadgets. It’s the way the Coyote bumbles them up, or the Roadrunner outwits him. It’s perfect.”

            Nathan grinned. “Mr. O’Neill, inform the _Reagan_ we have designated our enemy contact ‘ _Wile E. Coyote_ ’.”

            “Aye, sir.” Tim wasn’t facing him, but he would bet he was smiling from the tone of his voice.

            The bridge was tense for a few long seconds. The _Reagan_ patched them into their video feed so they could see what it looked like from the surface. They all saw when the _Wile E_. appeared from nowhere into a hover about a hundred meters above the surface. Nathan didn’t have to ask to know it was directly above their coordinates.

            “They knew right where to find you, Nathan,” Bill said with a sad yet grim look on his face. Tim split the center screen so they could get the admiral’s vid-link and the _Reagan_ ’s outside camera showing at the same time.

            “Just because they found us doesn’t mean they can grab us,” Nathan countered. “This ‘Roadrunner’ isn’t giving up.”

            “We’re launching fighters now,” Noyce reported.

            Nathan was sorely tempted to remind him not to provoke a war, but Bill outranked him and the commander of the _Reagan_ was probably taking orders from the President himself anyway. The captain held his tongue and his breath.

            A beam of green light appeared below the _Wile E_. and disappeared into the water.

            “Mr. Ortiz, do you have a—”

            “WSKRS view, right here,” Miguel finished for him. He sent it to the screen, taking over Noyce’s side and shoving the admiral’s face into a thumbnail in the corner. Now everyone could see the green light extending all the way down through over 8,000 meters of water without losing any intensity. Although _seaQuest_ had been ensconced in the absolute darkness of the trench, a thirty meter section of her hull was now brightly illuminated in green light.

            “Captain, depth gauge shows we’re rising,” Henderson reported.

            Nathan had expected to hear or feel the tractor beam taking hold somehow. In retrospect, he realized it was foolish to expect light would slam into the hull like a grappling magnet. “Rate of ascent?”

            “Two hundred meters per minute.”

            “Did you get that, Admiral?” Nathan asked the screen. He wasn’t sure O’Neill had piggybacked the WSKRS signal into their communi­cation with the _Reagan_.

            “We see it and we have sonar confirmation of your depth readings. _SeaQuest_ is rising. The aliens have made the first hostile move. Captain Stafford, I believe you already have orders.” Noyce turned around as he spoke.

            Stafford wasn’t standing in range of the vid-link, but they could hear him issuing orders to fire up all the rocket launchers, deck guns, and lasers, as well as launching the fighter jets.

            In seconds, they could see the _Ronald Regan_ launch a full-scale attack on the hovering _Wile E_. _Coyote_. Explosions went off and everyone cheered.

            “Let’s see if we can wiggle out of their grasp while they’re busy,” Nathan said. “All engines ahead full.”

            “Helm is not responding,” Henderson reported.

            Nathan could feel his engines purring. “Are we moving at all?”

            “Negative,” Ford answered. “Engines are engaged, but we have zero lateral movement and no change in our ascent.”

            “Recall deep submergence protocol now.”

            “But that’ll make us lighter,” Brody argued.

            “Correct, Lieutenant, but right now the only person on _seaQuest_ who can get to the evacuation shuttles is Piccolo, and we’d flood the bridge if we open those doors.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the only exit. “We’ve got to clear the corridors so we can get our people out.”

            Brody got the message long before Nathan finished talking and he looked properly embarrassed for needing to be told at all. He nodded until the captain finished and then answered with a humble, “Aye, sir.” Everyone else had already started the procedures which drained the flooded passages and equalized the pressure throughout the boat.

            “Any change in our rate of ascent?” he asked in Henderson’s direction.

            “No, sir. Rate is unchanged.”

            “Good. Lucas’s simulation had us rising at almost triple that speed.” He paid the teen a wink of thanks. Lucas beamed an irrepressible smile in response.

            “Mr. O’Neill, have we tried to explain how much we object to this?”

            “All air frequencies are being jammed, Captain. We can get through on the underwater link to the _Reagan_ , but the airwaves are completely jammed.”

            “We have no communication with our fighters,” Noyce confirmed. “And so far, nothing we’ve hit the enemy ship with has done any damage.”

            Nathan exhaled with exasperation. “What?” He gestured at his screen. “We saw explosions!”

            Bill shook his head. “We’re hitting her, but nothing penetrates their armor. It’s like we’re firing BB guns at a Sherman tank.”

            The smoke from firing all the big guns was obscuring the camera whose feed they’d been watching, but the fact _Wile E._ hadn’t let go of _seaQuest_ was troubling. Nathan wondered what else she might be doing instead. An aircraft carrier the size of _Reagan_ had a crew of over 5000 and there was no telling what kind of offensive weapons _Wile E._ might have. “Has she returned fire?”

            “Not yet. Maybe our assault isn’t dangerous enough to warrant their attention.” Bill Noyce sounded a little too optimistic, like he was talking himself out of fear.

            “Bill, you be careful. I don’t want to attend your funeral.”

            “ _My_ funeral! Whose boat is getting sucked up by aliens?”

            “I’m not sticking around for the finale. Do _you_ have an evac plan?”

            Captain Stafford’s head popped around the corner. “We’re taking good care of the admiral, Captain, I assure you.”

            “Thank you, Captain. You have no idea how much I hate dress uniforms.”

            Stafford laughed. Nathan didn’t envy his position, shooting at that massive behemoth and knowing his city full of people would be perched precariously on a sitting duck if the monster deemed him worthy of his attention. “Our fighters are starting their attack, but without radio contact, I won’t know much more than you do.”

            “We appreciate the backup, Captain, but don’t assume the _seaQuest_ down for the count just yet. She still has a few tricks up her sleeve.”

            “I hope I’m here to see it.”

            “I’m counting on you getting pictures so I have ammunition the next time I have to lobby for funds.”

            “You got it. I’ll leave you with the admiral. Looks like I may have to go out on deck and send orders to our fighters by semaphore.”

            “They teach pilots that?”

            “Any pilot who steps foot on my ship: you’d better believe it—just for circumstances like this.”

            “Fair winds, Captain Stafford.” Nathan figured that expression covered the ship and her aircraft.

            “Good luck to you as well.” Stafford donned a windbreaker and ran out of view of the vid-link. Admiral Noyce stepped back into center view.

            “Shouldn’t you be getting out of there?” Bill scolded.

            Bill was right. Nathan couldn’t sit around and hope the uncoordinated air attack worked, not after the depressing news about _Wile E_.’s armor. He turned from the vid-link screen to call out to his crew. “What’s our depth now?”

            “Status on our corridors?”

            “85% drained, Captain,” Brody reported.

            “Everyone get ready to report to evacuation stations. Unless that skinny old _Coyote_ lets go of us soon, we’ll be abandoning ship.”

            The crew nodded and Nathan had to admire how calm and professional they were all acting.

            Commander Ford cleared his throat. His face was the very picture of solemn determination. “Which Acme package will we be leaving with the _Coyote_ , Captain?”

            “Attack Plan Delta, Commander.”

            “Wait, I thought you said we couldn’t nuke them this close to land,” Lucas said. His voice was a little stressed, but not as panicked as the situation probably warranted.

            “No, we can’t. But we can detonate every last one of them from _inside_ once it leaves Earth’s atmosphere. Let’s see their armor deal with _that_.”

            “You’re not staying aboard,” Lucas said forcefully. It wasn’t even a question.

            “Relax, kiddo. Lieutenant Brody and Commander Ford already did most of the programming back in the Black Sea. All the commander and I have to do is get the timer started and arm them.”

            “Do you really have to self-destruct? They’re just borrowing her for ten years. Why not just let them have her?”

            “Borrowing without permission is called stealing. On this planet, stealing is universally condemned. Remember, they were going to steal _us_ , too.”

            “But they aren’t getting us. And without us, they might give her back even sooner.”

            _Might_. He understood Lucas’s attachment to _seaQuest_. He didn’t want to sacrifice her either, but this was a matter of principle. How could he explain? “Lucas, what happens if you give a bully your milk money? Does he leave you alone?”

            The teen’s brows wrinkled up in confusion.

            O’Neill scoffed loudly and then caught himself. “Uh, sorry, sir.”

            “Go ahead, Lieutenant.” Nathan should have tried to think of a computer metaphor for Lucas. But Tim could help explain what he meant.

            “No,” Tim said, “the bully comes back again and again and he tells all his bully friends what an easy target you are.”

            Lucas’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, I get it.”

            “Mr. O’Neill, get busy on making a recording to warn them _seaQuest_ will self-destruct inside their ship if they don’t bring her back.”

            “But if they bring it back after you arm the nukes, won’t we kill a bunch of folks?” Piccolo asked.

            “They can’t stop it, but _we_ can. It’ll be on a twenty minute timer. If they put her back, I send an ultrasonic tone sequence and then the commander and I have fifteen minutes to go in and disarm it.” He held up a remote device very similar to the ones they’d used to dissolve walls at Beauregard’s prison.

            “What if radio is still jammed?” Brody asked.

            “Sound waves travel better in water than in air. That’s why we’re having no trouble communicating with the _Reagan_ right now. I’m betting if they understand us enough to bring her back, they’re not going to stick around to jam our radio.”

            “You realize I never got a Hyberion language sample, Captain,” O’Neill reminded him.

            “I know, Lieutenant. Professor LeConte and Commander Keller should have versed them in English, and if they didn’t, well it’s not our fault if they don’t look for booby traps on their stolen property.”

            “Aye, sir,” Tim said soberly. He donned a headset and started typing.

            On the center screen, they watched rocket after rocket launch from fighter jet wings and explode on the surface of the giant saucer. The shock waves shook the cameras on the _Reagan_ and the light from the blasts whited out the picture intermittently.

            “Henderson, any change on our rate of ascent?”

            “Negative, Captain. Not even a hiccup.”

            “Current depth?”

            “4,900 meters and rising.”

            “Mr. Brody, status on the corridors?”

            “Down to 95%. We’ll splash a bit, but we won’t need gills.”

            “Nathan, you’ve done your best,” Bill said from the vid-link. “And so have we. It’s time to get your people out of there.”

            He’d almost forgotten the admiral had been listening. “All right everyone, you heard Admiral Noyce. Mr. O’Neill, put me on shipwide.”

            A nod and a flip of the switch.

            “Attention. This is the captain. All hands abandon ship. This is not a drill. All hands to evacuation stations.” He nodded to Tim to shut off the microphone, then he addressed the bridge crew. “Lieutenant Brody is in charge of the bridge launch. Wait for O’Neill and take off the second he gets there. Commander Ford and I are taking the _Stinger_.”

            “Aye, sir. Good luck,” Brody said with a snappy salute.

            Nathan returned the salute and then extended his hand for a quick shake. “No luck needed. You and Ford already did all the hard part. It’s just turning keys and remembering my password now.”

            Brody’s eyes bulged for a second before he realized his captain was joking. He flashed a grin and then started herding everyone to the door.

            Lucas threw his hands up in surrender. “I’m going, just like I promised.”

            “I never doubted your word,” Nathan said quietly. He really wanted to embrace the kid, but he wouldn’t embarrass him when he was trying so hard to be grown up and mature.

            Lucas hesitated a split-second and then ran into an impulsive hug. He whispered, “Be careful.”

            Nathan whispered back, “Love you, kiddo,” just as Lucas broke the hug and ran off through the open clam doors. The captain turned away from the retreating crew quickly, swallowing the lump in his throat. He straightened up and cleared his throat. “Well, have you got that recording ready yet, Mr. O’Neill?”

            “Aye, sir. It’s set for a continuous loop. Should I start it now?” His finger hovered over a red button.

            Silence would be better for the voice verification when they armed their missiles. “No, I trust it’s fine. Go ahead and get to the launch, Tim. They’re waiting for you.”

            “Aye. Good luck, Captain, Commander.” The communications officer was already out of his seat. He didn’t waste any time on goodbyes but Nathan caught him genuflecting as he ran toward the mag-lev.

            When they were alone, he turned to his executive officer. “Well, Jonathan? Lucas could be right. We could be starting an interstellar war here.”

            The commander drew his lips tight and shook his head. “No, sir. _You_ were right. We have to show strength or we’re putting the whole planet at risk. Let’s do it.”

            They both removed the keys from around their necks and went to work. It was exactly as they’d rehearsed except this time they used their actual serial numbers and the real launch codes. _This is the second **seaQuest** I’ve blown to kingdom come for this planet. They’d better build me another one,_ he thought ruefully. “Activate twenty-minute count­down now,” Nathan said.

            “Timer activated,” the computer voice droned.

            Nathan hit the red button to start the warning message. Tim’s calm voice echoed over the whole boat: “Attention unknown spacecraft, this is _seaQuest DSV_ of the United Earth Oceans Organization. Removal of this submarine from our planet is an act of war. Return _seaQuest_ to Earth immediately or she will self-destruct.” The message repeated from there.

            Nathan took one last look at the instruments to make sure arming the missiles or starting the message hadn’t gotten their attention, but nothing had changed. Jonathan pulled his Atlantean sword out from behind a storage panel and waved it wide. “After you, sir.”

            The two of them hoofed it toward the mag-lev.


	54. Chapter 54

            Tim’s heart pounded in his chest as Jim and Miguel piloted the shuttle away from _seaQuest_. He was still breathing hard from running all the way to launch bay. He was concerned for the captain and commander, but only slightly. It really wasn’t difficult or time-consuming to activate missiles. When they ran the simulation, they’d had even less time and still made it out just fine. Plus, the _Stinger_ was much faster than any of the shuttles.

            He also felt a pang of loss for _seaQuest_. She was something special, and even if they built another one, it would never be the same. He’d just gotten used to the new bridge design on the _II_. There was no telling what annoying and totally pointless changes they’d make on a third one. Not to mention how miserable he was going to be while they built her. The last one had taken sixteen months to build. He hadn’t been assigned to the shipyard until the tenth month. The prospect of another nine months of being the roving communications relief stooge for every sub in the UEO made him shudder.

            The unspoken rule said it was bad manners to show up whoever held the permanent assignment. The roving relief was supposed to be bottom-feeding scum, someone so incompetent he couldn’t hold a permanent position himself. But Tim couldn’t pretend he didn’t know a language when he did and he couldn’t just look the other way when a radio went on the fritz. Sure, the commanding officers always raved about him, but everyone else on the boat was sure he was after their best buddy’s job. Not fun.

            The only alternative was desk duty and Tim simply didn’t have an office-compatible personality. He could do the work. That part was easy. It was dealing with juvenile office politics and trying to avoid being the butt of every joke told at the water cooler he hated. On _seaQuest_ , he was respected and he even had friends. Anywhere else, he was the proverbial sore thumb.

            Maybe he should just accept leave and try to paint again. Too bad he already knew how badly it would work out. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could ever get better. He probably could. Now he knew, beyond any doubt, he wasn’t _gifted_ in painting. Nothing he painted would ever be in a museum. He could paint for his personal enjoyment, but it was hard to envision after his last ‘model’ had turned on him. Somehow, painting had lost its appeal.

            Was the knot at the pit of his stomach really just his selfish concerns about where he was going to spend the next few months? That monstrous mothership was going to fly off into space and explode like a supernova, killing everyone aboard. Sure, they were wrong. Tim agreed 100% with Captain Bridger’s reasoning about not letting them get away with kid­napping or stealing. He knew it was necessary for Earth’s security. But how many Hyberions were crew on that spaceship, just following orders, and didn’t even know the humans were opposed to what they were doing?

            And whose fault was it they didn’t know? No matter how he tried to talk himself out of it, Tim couldn’t shake the feeling _he_ was the one who should have been able to warn the innocent. He was the communications officer. He made the warning recording, but he hadn’t made it in _their_ language.

            Lieutenant Brody surfaced the shuttle about a mile away from _seaQuest_. Yet, even that far away, they weren’t out from under the shadow of the giant saucer. It was at least a mile in radius. Brody braced himself in the shuttle’s open hatch and started filming. _SeaQuest_ hadn’t appeared above the surface yet, and by Tim’s calculations, wouldn’t be appearing for at least another five minutes, unless something changed the rate of ascent. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, _Wile E. Coyote_ extended a metal arm down into the water and the light-beam vanished.

            Although alien in design, there was no mistaking the purpose of that metal extension. It had a mechanical hand, just like the sea-crabs and the HR probe had, and its hand was _huge_. It could only mean one thing. They’d used some kind of energy tractor beam to tow _seaQuest_ from the depths, but now they were going to physically grab her. Tim had already resolved the boat to capture, but this development brought fresh worry to his mind. This could change the rate of ascent, and worse, this hand could grab in such a way as to render the exit blocked.

            After the hand plunged under the water, it was impossible to see how far the shaft was moving or when it grabbed its prey and started retracting the other direction. Brody yelled down from his perch, “Someone call the captain and tell him what we’re seeing.”

            “I got it,” Tim said as he moved next to Miguel. He had the headset on and the correct switches pressed before his butt hit the seat. “ _MR-12_ to Captain Bridger. Please come in.”

            “Bridger to _MR-12_ , we see it. Is Brody getting it on video?”

            “Yes, sir. We’re about a mile due south of _seaQuest_. He’s filming everything. Can you tell if the Launch Bay doors are unobstructed, sir?” Tim held his breath. There was nothing anyone could do if that mechanical arm had clamped over the only escape route. _Please don’t be blocked. Please don’t be blocked._

            “No, can’t tell from here, but it doesn’t matter. We’re already out.”

            The _Stinger_ zipped by, close enough for _MR-12_ to feel her wake and bob in the sea like a storm-tossed cork. Tim exhaled his held breath. That’s what he got for not checking sonar. After feeling relief everyone was out of _seaQuest_ , his nausea returned. It didn’t help they were surfaced and riding waves now. Tim backed out of the pilot’s seat and nudged his way past the bridge crew standing in the aisle, excusing himself until he got to Dr. Smith.

            He hated being so susceptible to sea sickness, but if he didn’t get some kind of medication very soon, he was going to be even more embarrassed. “Doctor,” he whispered. “Do you have any...” He stopped mid-sentence because too many people were staring. He realized he didn’t have to ask out loud. He finished by Transmitting: _…motion sickness meds?_

“Sure, Lieutenant,” she answered without giving anything away. “Sorry. I should have remembered.” She rummaged in her medical satchel and pulled out a hypospray. He pushed his long sleeve up a few inches so she could administer the drug to his bare wrist. A quick hiss and she smiled. “You okay?”

            He hadn’t felt so great even before they surfaced and started bobbing around, but he’d assumed it was the stress of worrying about the captain and commander, having his home stolen, and not being able to communicate to the thieves that they’d better give it back or they were going to be blown to smithereens. “Uh… Yeah. Fine.” She would know it wasn’t completely truthful, but he didn’t care. Just because he had a legitimate right to feel like crap didn’t mean he should whine about it. _Why do doctors ask about symptoms they have no cures for anyway?_

“Because we want to help?” she whispered back.

            Heat flushed his cheeks. He’d been careless with his thoughts. Again. “Sorry. I’m a little on edge.”

            “A little?”

            “Okay, _a lot_.”

            Just then, _seaQuest_ broke the surface of the water to the collective gasps of the occupants of the shuttle. They were all watching on a monitor since there wasn’t enough room for everyone to look out the front window. The fighter jets renewed their fervor in launching more missiles at the _Wile E. Coyote_. The explosions were deafening and the shockwaves rocked the shuttle, but when the smoke cleared, nothing had changed.

            Great sheets of water slipped off _seaQuest_ as she was lifted, helpless, into the maw of the giant monster looming overhead. Tim felt his heart catch in his throat. _Don’t do it. We need her and she’s just death to you._ His emotions were running high, so he wasn’t surprised when Wendy squeezed his hand as a silent affirmation she’d heard his thoughts. Yet, he _was_ surprised to hear a voice in his mind that wasn’t Wendy.

            _Tim, they heard you. They don’t understand. Explain it to them._

_Mary?_

_Yes. I know you’re trying to talk to aliens. Wendy told me about the hijacking. They heard you, but they’re confused. Explain what you mean by ‘death to them’._

_Did they hear my recording or my Transmitting?_

_Transmitting. They don’t have auditory senses. They can’t hear sounds like we do, but they can communicate mind-to-mind. I don’t know how they understand English, but they do. I can feel their confusion. Just explain what you mean._

Tim’s mind raced. The first thing he thought of was just to repeat what he’d said in the recording. _Attention unknown spacecraft, this is seaQuest DSV of the United Earth Oceans Organization. Removal of this submarine from our planet is an act of war. Return seaQuest to Earth immediately or she will self-destruct._

            He paused. Was that enough? He glanced at the tiny monitor in the shuttle. _SeaQuest_ had disappeared into the hold of the marauder and doors were closing underneath her. Either they hadn’t understood or they didn’t believe the threat. Why should they? All the other Earth weapons had been so puny and ineffective. It was just like Admiral Noyce had said, they were shooting BB guns at a Sherman tank. And the aliens in the Sherman tank were laughing.

            The doors closed and _seaQuest_ was no longer visible. Sorrow swept over him in a nauseating wave. And then the _Wile E. Coyote_ took off straight up. She shot into the air so fast it almost seemed like she vanished. Tim stared at the empty monitor in shock and disbelief. _SeaQuest_ was really gone.

            The backwash from _Wile E_ ’s departure threw the fighter jets into erratic trajectories. “Whoa!” someone in the shuttle gasped. One of the jets went into a tailspin and everyone held their breaths.

            Just then, Brody came lumbering down the ladder, yelling, “Everyone hold on!” He was trying to secure the hatch when mayhem broke. The launch tumbled and Tim slammed into someone at his right, then his head hit the metal roof. People were screaming, water was gushing in, and he didn’t know which way was up anymore. At last, he landed in a pile of bodies and cargo, and more of the same landed on top of him. When the rolling stopped, he just lay stunned and motionless. All lights had gone out. It was pitch black.

            “The hatch! Somebody get the hatch!”

            Tim couldn’t tell who screamed, nor could he even tell where the hatch was at the moment.

            “Is anyone hurt?” Dr. Smith called out.

            Those who could move started removing themselves from the dogpile. “Get the hatch!” someone else yelled. Tim thought it sounded like Miguel this time. In another few seconds, he had enough lucidity to understand why people kept yelling about the hatch. It was still open and they had landed upside down. The shuttle was sinking.

            Tim freed himself from the tangle of body parts. His arm ached, but he didn’t think he was bleeding. Miraculously, his glasses were still on his nose, probably because they’d been so crowded there was no room for them to fall off. He felt around some more, but everything was so jumbled he couldn’t tell much except what was warm and organic from what was cold and hard and therefore not human. Anything soft and warm got pulled from the water and Tim made sure the figure was conscious and breathing before he continued. He recognized Lucas by his voice and made sure the teen had something solid to hold onto.

            The water itself wasn’t cold at all. They were in the tropics and no longer in a deep trench. Still, they had to get the hatch closed or the shuttle would sink with everyone inside. As Tim was making his way through waist-deep water, something bobbed up and broke the surface just a foot away.

            “Hatch is closed,” Piccolo’s voice announced. “But I think we’re still sinkin’.”

            Sinking wasn’t bad in a mini-submarine as long as they had air and they didn’t go below the safe depth and implode from the pressure. His fears abated considerably with the news. “Can anyone get to the controls?” Tim called. He didn’t even know which direction they were in. He just kept feeling his way around, making sure all the human bodies were conscious enough to keep their heads above water.

            Then the shuttle began to sway. Tim imagined it had reached neutral buoyancy and was being tossed by the currents. But the swaying became rhythmic and then the rocking momentum rolled them over. People grunted and sighed, but Tim could tell by the grates against the soles of his shoes they were upright again.

            “Everyone check your neighbors. Make sure everyone is breathing,” Dr. Smith called into the dark.

            Tim moved toward the cockpit, more sure of his direction now the shuttle had righted. In a few seconds, he saw light shining through the front window. Captain Bridger had parked the _Stinger_ right on _MR-12_ ’s nose. With light to guide his way, Tim surged toward the controls. When he got there, he could see it was actually Commander Ford driving the _Stinger_. Captain Bridger was sculling in the water with a rebreather, fully clothed, and peering into through the window. Now their rolling upright made sense.

            Tim grabbed a headset and shook the excess water off, then shoved it on his head. Squinting in the indirect illumination from the _Stinger,_ he started a water pump first, then activated the radio.

            “Lieutenant, is everyone okay?” Commander Ford asked.

            Static was heavy, but the system was working. “I think so. It’s very dark over here, and we took on a lot of water, but Piccolo got the hatch secured and I think everyone is breathing. Dr. Smith is taking care of injuries.”

            “Do you need assistance? The _Reagan_ can send rescue crews if we need it.”

            Captain Bridger watched as they talked. He couldn’t hear anything, but he could see communication had been established. Tim gave him a thumb’s up and he nodded back.

            “We’re fine for the moment,” Tim told Ford. “Let’s see what’s working before we call for help. What happened to those fighter jets? Did they make it?”

            “Two planes splashed, but one of the pilots ejected. Don’t know about the other one. We were more worried about you guys. I’ve never seen a shuttle tumble like that.”

            Brody slipped into the seat beside Tim. He was soaked from head to toe. “I don’t recommend the ride, but I think we’re all okay,” he said to Ford. Then he turned to Tim. “What’s working?”

            Tim resisted the urge to sigh. He flipped some switches and the emergency lights flickered on. Cheers erupted from the back. “Emergency lights are working, Lieutenant,” Tim said even though it was obvious.

            Brody grinned and patted Tim’s back like he’d done something spectacular just flipping a switch.

            “Pump indicator says it’s working too.”

            Commander Ford backed the _Stinger_ away so the headlight wasn’t glaring through the window anymore.

            The captain pointed and canted his head toward the diving airlock. He was coming aboard. Tim stood to go. Brody laid his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “I’ll go let him in. You can do more good up here.”

            Tim nodded and turned back to the control panel. The captain would want a report as soon as he got aboard. Tim had better know whether life support was working.

            He had to reroute some circuits, but he did it with switches instead of opening panels. It would have been risky to let any more water into the wiring than had already made it. Finally he could see oxygen tanks were intact and the pressure regulators were working. They were no longer sinking either.

            Captain Bridger appeared in the doorway with Brody behind him. “Status, Mr. O’Neill?”

            “Life support fully functional. Six hours of oxygen for present company of thirteen, longer if we can get Piccolo to breathe water or if you have to leave.”

            “Trying to get rid of me already?”

            “No, sir, I was just hoping… you know.”

            The captain looked down at his watch. From the look on his face and the shaking of his head, Tim knew the twenty minutes were up. _SeaQuest_ was gone. He swallowed hard and resumed his report. “We’re at neutral buoyancy and stable at fifty-five feet.”

            “Propulsion?”

            Tim pressed forward on the joystick. The shuttle moved so fast, he had to pull back to avoid hitting the _Stinger_. “It appears no damage to propulsion. I think if we just pump all the water out, we’ll be all right.”

            “Good. You had us worried there.”

            “Piece of cake,” Brody said. “You should have Lucas program a simulation like this so we can do it for kicks.”

            “Oh yeah, great fun,” Miguel said from behind Brody. There was a band of gauze around his head and a bulging bandage near the temple. Blood had partially soaked through. Tim winced in sympathy.

            “Do you have the feed from the _Reagan_?” Commander Ford’s voice sounded urgent in his headset.

            Tim flipped some switches and quickly gave the _Reagan_ an ident code so he could tap into the same video they’d been watching on _seaQuest_. A picture of the _Wile E. Coyote_ hovering over the water crackled into substance on the screens inside the _MR-12_. At first, Tim assumed they were showing a replay, one that would be painful to watch. But then he noticed something different. There were rescue vessels in the water, presumably picking up the fighter pilots whose planes had crashed. He could also see another shuttle launch in the distance.

            Someone voiced what he was thinking: “Wait a minute. This is live!”

            Tim gulped. Others gasped. _Wile E. Coyote_ was back and she wasn’t atomized. Were the Hyberions infuriated at what they’d tried to do and come back to finish everyone off?

            The hull doors in the great saucer opened and the beautiful, shining outline of the _seaQuest_ lowered slowly toward the water by the same mechanical hand that had picked her up. Everyone stared at the screen in disbelief, jaws dropped.

            _They say they’re sorry and beg for truce_ , Mary’s voice said softly in Tim’s mind.

            “Captain, the aliens are apologizing and asking for a truce.”

            “You made contact?” Bridger asked incredulously. He probably thought Tim was relaying something he heard on his headset.

            “They communicate telepathically. I can’t hear them, but Dr. Smith’s _friend_ is relaying their message.” He wasn’t sure whether Mary wanted her name used in front of the bridge crew. The captain had asked before to keep her a secret.

            “Tell them we accept!”

            _We grant your truce,_ Tim Transmitted. “Anything else, sir?”

            “Tell them to stay the hell away from our planet!”

            Tim was trained in rephrasing messages to sound diplomatic, but the captain wasn’t making this easy. He took a second to think and then: _Conditions of our truce require you do not approach Earth again_.

            The mechanical arm released _seaQuest_ and she splashed as she hit the calm waters of the Pacific. The hoots and cheers of sailors aboard the _Reagan_ were audible on the video.

            “I guess that means we have a truce.” Bridger smiled.

            “How much time do we have?” Lucas asked. Tim couldn’t see the young genius, but his voice was close. He had to be standing just behind Miguel.

            Panic filled the captain’s eyes. Twenty minutes had already passed. “They’re going to kill us with our own missiles, and take out half of South America at the same time!”

            “Wait,” Lucas said. “Flying through space causes some type of time warp, remember? Didn’t Major Allen say ten years passed on Earth while we didn’t age at all? Why aren’t they leaving if they think it will detonate soon?”

            Where was the remote? Surely the captain didn’t have it, or he wouldn’t be panicking to begin with. He must have left the remote in the _Stinger_ so it wouldn’t get wet. Tim glanced out to the _Stinger_ and saw Commander Ford waving the device.

            The captain surged forward and punched the radio switch. “Jonathan, press the button! Stop the countdown!”

            “Already done, sir,” Ford said with infinite calm, waving the remote in the tiny window and grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Would you care to take a ride to go retrieve your launch key?” He sounded like some laid-back tour guide on a cruise ship.

            Nervous laughter escaped the captain and he shook his finger at the _Stinger_. Everyone joined him in laughing and the captain glanced around the still-flooded _MR-12_. “Comedians. You’re all comedians.” He leaned over the control console. “Yes, I would like to go retrieve my launch key, Commander. Meet me at the surface.” The _Stinger_ had to have her top half in air to open her door. “Have you tried to purge your ballasts yet?” he asked Brody and O’Neill.

            “No, sir, but shouldn’t we wait until that thing takes off again?” Brody pointed at the mothership, hovering there like the Coyote foiled by the Roadrunner, defeated, stunned, and unsure what to do next. Brody had to be concerned about another backwash wave.

            The captain looked at the screen again. “Good thinking, Lieutenant.” He looked over at Tim. “Are they saying anything?”

            _Mary, Captain Bridger wants to know if they’re saying anything._

            The mothership shot back into the sky before he got an answer. _Yes, they were singing a ritual surrender. It wasn’t in English, but I think I understood the intent. They do this when they surrender to an enemy who has earned their respect. I think they expected you to use those weapons **on them** if they didn’t provide a show of humility before their retreat._

            “It appears they were performing some kind of surrender song, acknowledging our strength. They were afraid of our weapons.”

            “They have ships like _that_ , but not nuclear weapons?” Brody snorted with disbelief.

            “Not impossible,” Lucas said. “They don’t have submarines either. We saw their armor at work. They definitely spent a lot of time perfecting against conventional things like projectiles and explosions. The physics they use for space travel isn’t really about powerful engines. Think about a compass. They don’t need electricity or wind or even sunlight. The magnetic field is just _there_. Their spaceships are like that.”

            Tim hadn’t understood Professor LeConte’s lectures very much, but now Lucas put it in those terms, it made more sense. He had a feeling Lucas could build one of those spaceships if he had a mind to.

            “Do you remember the song, Lieutenant?” Captain Bridger asked.

            “I didn’t hear it myself. Besides, I still don’t know their language.”

            “No, but you got them our message anyway.”

            Tim smiled. “Yes, sir, as ordered.” _And please don’t ever ask me to do it again_.

            Captain Bridger clapped him on the back. The backwash wave passed them, this time having no more effect than a gentle swell. Maybe the _Wile E_. had been more considerate of how she took off, or maybe it was just because they weren’t on the surface, where waves were always worse. As soon as it passed, Brody blew the ballasts and _MR-12_ rose. They couldn’t get her all the way up while she still had water inside, but the captain just took his rebreather and left through the diver’s airlock. His khaki uniform was already wet.

            The _Stinger_ took off from the surface and dove down just deep enough to enter _seaQuest_ ’s tricuspid Launch Bay door. Brody followed in _MR-12_ , but of course, they were left far behind the _Stinger_ ’s wake.

_Thanks, Mary. We owe you big time for this one._

_They heard **you** , not me. All I did was give you their side of the conversation._

_It’s still a big deal. You were there when we needed you. Thanks._

_Well, there’s a reason for that and you probably won’t like it._

_Huh?_

            _Check your email, Tim. I’ll let you go. You’re probably going to be very busy for a while. I’m glad you didn’t get abducted by aliens._

 _Bye_ , he said quickly, but he knew she didn’t hear him. Her abrupt parting was a little unsettling, but Tim was way too keyed up now to dwell on it. Wendy got tired from listening to regular people’s emotions, so it was logical to assume Mary had been exhausted trying to sort out alien emotions.

            The captain gave the all-clear and recalled all the shuttles back to _seaQuest_. He met _MR-12_ at the launch bay and cornered Brody. “You got video, right?”

            “Yes, sir.” He held up a memory stick. “Nearly sunk the launch for this.”

            “Thank you. I’ll take that.” The captain grabbed the stick and promptly handed it to Lucas. “Copy it, clone it, and distribute it as widely and anonymously as possible. I will need the original back in thirty minutes and you didn’t get it from me.”

            “I borrowed it from Brody,” Lucas said, patting the soggy camera­man on the shoulder.

            “Wait. I was guarding that with my life!” Brody complained.

            “I snuck it out of your pocket, copied it, and put it back before you gave it to the captain. You never even noticed it missing. You had your hands busy trying to keep us from sinking.”

            Brody looked slightly appeased, but he still didn’t like being the one to have ‘misplaced’ something so important.

            “Cheer up, Lieutenant. You got the footage _and_ you saved the launch. No one is going to be able to trace the leaked video to _seaQuest_ anyway, are they?” Bridger turned and fixed a stare on Lucas.

            Lucas shook his head. “Not a chance.”

            A smile, a wink, and a pat on the back and Lucas disappeared with the memory stick.

            Admiral Noyce came aboard to congratulate the crew and to report the _Reagan_ lost two jets and a pilot in the skirmish. Captain Bridger gave Captain Stafford his personal condolences and then ordered everyone but the four helmsmen, Lucas, and Wendy to assemble on top. _SeaQuest_ didn’t have a conning tower or even a flat deck on her upper hull, as she really wasn’t designed for surface operation, but the eighty of them managed to stand in a straight line and salute as they made a slow honor pass by the aircraft carrier.

            Finally, Tim was off duty. As he got ready for bed, he could hardly believe how much had happened in the last twelve hours. They’d left the Black Sea in 1504, tried to hide from thieves who wanted to kidnap them, abandoned ship, set _seaQuest_ to self-destruct, survived a tumbling and flooded shuttle, and somehow gained a surrender from an advanced alien race.

            And somewhere in the midst of that, he vaguely remembered getting promoted. Although, with so many things happening, if that part had been a dream, he could easily believe it. The only proof he had was the uniform name-patch Piccolo had defaced and a soggy wad of paper with smeared ink in the pocket.

            He crawled into his bunk, sighing contentedly. _Never a dull day on **seaQuest**_.

 

 

**The Beginning**


End file.
